Sunshine and Subterfuge
by 9science
Summary: The multiverse is beautiful and terrifying; it overflows with infinite possibility. Among the varied realities that depend on the items colloquially referred to as the Tri-ni-sette for their continued existence, there is one where a certain notorious hitman... wasn't exactly a man. This is her story. [AU; Fem!Reborn]
1. Chapter 1

**Sunshine and Subterfuge**

 **Arc I - Bluebirds Fly**

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** No, I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. (And let's be honest; nobody owns Reborn.)

* * *

 **01\. Beginnings**

The boy that would eventually be known as Renato Sinclair, the World's Greatest Hitman is born on October 13, 19XX.

Of course, that's not an entirely accurate statement. One part is an outright lie, fabricated by the person in question— and in the future, Renato Sinclair will be at least thirty percent lie at all times. The rest is due to a mistake in the paperwork. The name Renato is indeed recorded that night. The child born after a grueling thirteen hours of labor is initially assumed to be a boy. It is one Renata that is born on that cold Friday, October 13th.

And she is no Sinclair.

Renata is welcomed into life by a sleep-deprived mother and father, her delivery the glorious finale to an exhausting ordeal. It had been a risky pregnancy and difficult birth; both adults are blissfully happy that nothing is wrong with either mother or babe.

Things change little in their lives over the next few months as the new parents adjust to parenthood, and the child in question adjusts to life.

In terms of appearance, she quickly proves to favor her Italian father. By the end of her second week of life the blue eyes, common to every infant, darken into a shade of black that rivals the void between stars in their intensity. A few months, and the dark patch of hair she's born with is replaced by ink-black, wild, and incredibly curly tresses. Only her pale skin tone is inherited from the quirky half-Japanese, half-English woman that is her mother; that, and perhaps the almond shape of her dark eyes.

From the very beginning, she proves to be a quiet, unnervingly intelligent child.

"Ah, beloved, look at her! She's so precious, our little Renée-chan..." The woman coos, "And those dark curls! I swear, she looks more and more like you every day!" Glancing up, her husband smiles tightly, murmuring his agreement, but quickly turns back to the thick leather-bound book in his hands. Ayame pouts theatrically, but does not demand further attention from her husband.

Renata ignores the babble as she struggles to stand— of the large-warm others, the pale-one-that-provides-food has always been more vocal. Noisier. The dark one, with the low, soothing voice, rarely responds. The infant follows the dark one's example, preferring to focus on her environment, observing quietly, rarely babbling back to the large-warm ones. Admittedly, she pays attention to and occasionally attempts to mimic their noises, curious as to the meaning. _Do they have meaning?_

That is exactly why she is capable of walking and talking by age one... The talking is, admittedly, something of a surprise to her parents.

Renata toddles into the kitchen on unsteady legs, leaning on the wall when her balance is precarious, and speaks, her tone demanding, "Mamma... Ren hungry."

"Yeee! Renée-chan, you can talk?"

The toddler stares blankly at her Mamma, and repeats, slowly, this time pointing a chubby finger at her grumbling stomach. "Mamma. Ren hungry." _Feed me. Now._ The toddler's impatient thoughts are strongly implied.

"Ah, hungry? Such an interesting child... Well, at least your first word is still Mamma!" The woman smiles, and acquiesces to her daughter's demand. "Papa will be so disappointed he missed this! Well, that's what he gets for being so in love with his books."

And life continues on from there; Renata blowing all childhood milestones out of the water with nary a concern.

* * *

 **02\. Partnership**

By the time she is four, everything has changed.

Renata and her parents have moved from their cozy apartment in the city into a large, two-story house. There are new people— the staff responsible for the upkeep of the small estate now owned by her Mamma and Papa. They are all convinced that Renata's middle name is chaos.

Upon learning her new nickname from their cook, the cheeky girl stops using 'Ciao' as a greeting, switching entirely to 'Chaos'. It is this interesting new habit that reveals the mild lisp that contributes to her reserved nature— "Ciaossu, Mamma, Papa." After all, Renata is a perfectionist. "Ciaossu!"

With that realization comes tutoring— speech therapy. Renata bargains for proper lessons after speech therapy evolves into language lessons. There is etiquette, the various minutiae necessary for a young lady to know, and eventually even the basics of dance. Renata demolishes the basic curriculum expected of a child of nearly twice her age by six.

Renata is stubborn, demanding, frighteningly intelligent, and has a rather twisted sense of humor. On the other hand, she remains unfailingly polite, unless her temper is riled.

Inept tutoring riles her temper.

Consequently, she goes through a lot of tutors.

Her parents despair, until they learn to bribe her into compliance: her mother, with large quantities of candy—chocolate, caramel, and anything coffee flavored— and her father, with the offer of a new responsibility for his independent little scholar. A pet. Though admittedly, he takes his wife's advice into account when choosing said pet.

"A chameleon?" Renata stares at the small green lizard, trapped behind thin glass walls, with great curiosity. "It's interesting." _I'll have to do some reading on habitat, diet, and things of that nature..._ As if offhand, she murmurs her thanks, "Thank you, Papa. In exchange, I will not glue thumbtacks to the tutor's chair again." _It's a simple, silly trick anyway. I can come up with something much more devilish._

 ** _Hello, human hatchling._** A distinctly masculine voice intrudes on her thoughts. She blinks, and tilts her head slightly, her expression very much akin to a curious bird watching its prey. _Did it just talk?_ "He's very interesting... I think we'll get along well. Does he have a name?"

"Not yet; I thought it best to leave that up to you."

"Thank you, Papa." She nods decisively, and reaches into the glass tank, cupping a small, chubby hand beneath the little lizard. "Leon." The little one climbs down and settles in her palm.

 ** _Leon? You have an interesting sense of humor, but that name is as good as any other, I suppose._**

She brings the little creature up to her face, her fathomless black eyes meeting Leon's wide, lizard yellow ones, and whispers with a secretive smile, "Hello, Leon. My name is Renata, only sometimes people think it is Renato. Mamma calls me Renée or Ren-chan. Let's be friends."

 ** _Friends?_**

"That's right." _I feel as if I will come to trust you with my secrets._

 ** _Mm... Please treat me well, Ren._**

And that, as they say, is that.

The problems start a few weeks later, when she admits to her father that she is so good at catering to the needs of her new pet because she can understand him. Literally.

She can practically see the wall growing between them, looking into the dark eyes that are so similar to her own. "Don't make things up, Renata. This world is one of science, not magic and superstition."

 _Is that how it is...?_

Renata has a terrifying facility for linguistics, for languages of all kinds, written and spoken— everything from Italian to Mathematics— and apparently, human and nonhuman.

 _Papa... Where did this talent come from, if not from you?_

 _Hmm, I wonder._

* * *

 **03\. Gifted**

When Renata's father succinctly informs her mother of her airheaded, make-believe games, tone dripping with disapproval, Ayame just laughs. "Ah, my sweet Renée is just like her Mamma. Do not worry, dearest, I'll take care of it."

Two pairs of suspicious black eyes study her. The owner of the older ones comments, "Is that so? I'll leave her in your hands then, dear wife," before striding from the room, door closing behind him in a final thump. He retreats back to his library, his sanctuary.

 _But I was telling the truth!_

"Papa just told me to stop pretending. Big girls don't play make-believe." Renata scowls, hot tears spilling down her cheeks, hands clenched into little fists. _Will you do the same, Mamma?_ It is frustration and anger not sadness that evoke her tears. "I'm not little." _I'm not pretending!_

 ** _Don't waste your tears on something like this, Ren._** The chameleon on her shoulder replies, tail gripping the back of her neck in a possessive manner. **_If she does not believe you, what does it matter? I will still be here, and so will you. We both know the truth of the matter._**

"Your little friend is quite right. Even if you were the only that could hear him, what would it change?"

"...M-mamma?"

"Ah, sweetling, do not worry. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you."

She leans forward, pressing a warm kiss to Renata's forehead, smoothing down the girl's curls, made all the wilder by her emotional state. The child's hair is short, recently cut due to an incident with a jar of honey. A pair of curls near her ears spring out, looking exactly like quirky sideburns. "You'll just have to forgive your Papa. He's not like you and I."

The dark-eyes child blinks, shocked by her mother's words. "You can... You can understand Leon, too?"

The older woman steps back and twirls in place, her smile wide and brilliant in its intensity, "Yes, yes~! This is fantastic! I can pass my skills on to my adorable Ren-chan! Ah, I really should have suspected it when you started learning languages so rapidly... Dearest, forgive me for the oversight."

 _Of course I forgive you, Mamma._ She doesn't say the words out loud, but her tears taper off, replaced by a lovely smile. "Skills?" Renata loves to learn new things.

"Mmm-hm." A beatific smile from the older woman. She reaches down picking up Renata and settling the little one on her hip. Renata would usually protest, but she is far too busy listening, processing, analyzing, and extrapolating. "A secret gift. You know how to keep a secret right, Ren-chan?"

"Yes."

So her Mamma explained. Retreating to the couch that dominates the center of this particular room, she sits, shifting the child into her lap, twining fingers through the wild curls upon her head. "Then, my sweet sunlight, let me tell you a story..."

* * *

A great many years ago, when the world was still in its infancy, when spirits and demons still roamed the earth, there lived a boy named Ekai.

Ekai was orphaned when he was very young; he could barely remember his parents. His mother had passed into the land of the spirits shortly after he was born, having time enough only to name him. His father died a scarce handful of years after that, a victim of the bandits that occasionally raided the small mountain village where he lived. The little boy did not lack for family, however. The village claimed Ekai; he became everyone's son and everyone's cute little brother.

As the years passed, Ekai grew into a brilliant and handsome young man, a youth whose smile rivaled the sun in its brightness. Ekai was happy, for he loved his family and his home, but in his heart of hearts, he was also sad. For you see, he had a bright mind and loved to learn... and there are only so many things Ekai could learn in the village that was his home. He could hunt, but he was far from the best hunter. He could work as a farmhand, but he wasn't the best at that, either. He was a passable healer, but the doctors that occasionally trekked up to the village were much better. No, what Ekai was best at was learning.

Ekai wondered what it would be like to travel down the mountain. Whenever his mind was idle, he dreamed of the faraway lands he could explore, the new things he could learn. But alas, he was needed in the village. He tended the garden for the elderly Nana, who had arthritis in her knees and could barely walk. He babysat for little Aki, who was small and sickly, and often caught colds in the cooler months. During harvest time, the salves he had learned to make from a traveling priestess soothed the aches brought on by hard work.

How could he leave his family, when they needed him so?

So Ekai stayed in the village, happy but also unhappy and desperately bored.

Then came the unhappiest year of all fourteen years Ekai had seen.

The summer was long and dry, and their crops withered from the heat and unrelenting sun. Then, at the end of summer, there came a great storm that shook the mountain. The storm scared away the animals that the villagers hunted. Finally, as fall was setting in, bandits came and stole what little food remained in their home. All that was left was the village itself—the ramshackle huts, the people, and one skinny milk cow named Rui.

Winter would soon come to the mountain, and surely it would be a cold one.

Ekai's family would starve.

So Ekai went to the village elders, and begged them to let him leave. "Please, let me go ask for help from our neighbors. Surely, their luck this year has been better. Surely, they will not leave us to starve. What use am I here? I am no great hunter to find the last of the wild goats hiding on the mountain. I am no farmer, able to pull what little remains of our crops from the sunbaked soil." So impassioned were his pleas that even though Ekai was young and had never traveled far from his home, the elders agreed to let him go.

The next morning, Ekai left his village for the first time. He traveled down the mountain with little more than the clothes on his back and a loaf of hard bread to feed him. The first village he came to, their closest neighbors, turned him away— they, too, suffered under the effects of the drought. "We have nothing to share," the villagers said, "But perhaps closer to the valley, you might find help."

The next village was the same, as was the next. Reaching the base of the mountain, Ekai sought out a village in the valley, only to be turned away once again. "Go home, boy. We have troubles enough of our own here. You think we have food to share with a beggar like you?"

Fatigued by his long journey and greatly saddened by his failure to find help, Ekai retreated back to the mountain. By that time, only crumbs remained of the bread he'd taken with him. As evening approached, he took a seat on a boulder beside the great road that would lead him back home. His stomach growled with hunger. _I see_ , thought Ekai, _I have failed, and we will all die from hunger._

His morbid thoughts were disturbed by a piercing scream.

Ekai turned, and saw a small brown bird, a sparrow, crying out in pain as it tried to fly. Its wing was obviously broken. His heart was moved, for surely the bird had a family waiting for her, just as his family waited for him to return. He calmed her with a soft lullaby, the same he used to soothe little Aki when he fussed, and put a makeshift splint on her wing— strips of cloth cut from his shirt and a twig collected from the ground. Then, as night fell, he shared his meager dinner with her, recognizing the hunger in her eyes. "Here." He spoke, placing the crumbs left from his stale loaf of bread on the ground beside him. "These will feed you better than they would me... There is no reason for both of us to go hungry."

Exhausted, Ekai fell into a restless sleep, for it always desperately difficult to sleep deeply when you are hungry, and boulders do not make good pillows. In his dreams came a spirit in the shape of a beautiful woman.

Her tumbling curls reminded Ekai of the river near his home, her dress the dark green of the forests that surrounded his village, her eyes the bright blue of a cloudless sky. She spoke with a voice that was the song of the mountain—a voice that echoed of the calls of songbirds, of the howls of hungry wolves, of the buzzing of bees as they flit from flower to flower. "You are a kind soul, Ekai."

 _Kind_? Ekai wondered. _What good is kindness, really, if no one returns it? I have failed, and my family and I will starve during the winter, if we do not do so before._

"You have shared what little food you had with the hungry, and healed the hurts of an innocent. The bird you helped was my daughter. In exchange for your kindness, I give you a gift." But before the youth could explain he needed no gift, ask what gift she offered, or even ask the identity of the woman, Ekai awoke with a gasp. It was morning already. The bird that had slept beside him was gone, and the world was alive with voices. A quick glance around showed no people nearby, and Ekai was confused. _Am I hearing things due to my hunger_ , he thought, his stomach releasing a loud growl at the thought of food.

"Hello, friend. Do you need help?" asked a passing beetle, circling around the youth's head. "You sound hungry. Would you like me to point you in the direction of some food? Humans can eat acorns, right?" And the young man understood what gift the spirit of the mountain had given him.

So Ekai trekked back up the mountain and returned to his village, his home. He spoke to the creatures of the forest, and led the women of the village through the woods, gathering hidden mushrooms, roots, and fruit. He spoke to the birds, and led the hunters to where the wild goats had gathered for shelter. He spoke to the insects, and led the warriors of the village to the cave at the base of the mountain where the bandits hid their ill-gotten supplies.

The villagers had more than enough food to survive the winter, and Ekai was happy, both on the outside and within his heart of hearts. Never again did Ekai have the urge to leave his family, for every creature that lived on the mountain— whether it flew, swam, or crawled, would visit him and whisper secrets in his ears.

The village was safe, his family was happy, and Ekai never again lacked new things to learn.

* * *

Renata's mother pauses after the story is done, patting her daughter's head. "Ekai was our ancestor. He was gifted with the ability to speak with all that lives and breathes. They say that the blessing has weakened through the generations— your great-great-grandfather, for example, could only speak to monkeys. Some children are born without the gift at all. I, on the other hand, can speak with anything that walks, swims, or flies, just like Ekai... and I suspect you are the same."

"... What can we use it for, Mamma?"

"Just like any talent, we use it to improve our lives, to protect ourselves and our families. And, just like Ekai, we can use our gift to learn more about the world." She does not say that for generations the more gifted members of her family have been information brokers. Her job as an actress is a cover, an idle pastime that lets her play with the skills she's cultivated for her true career.

Renata is a precocious child with a brilliant analytical mind, but it is not time to introduce her to that world.

Not yet.

Suddenly, Renata has many new lessons to attend— sewing costumes, acting, gathering information... _So many new and interesting things to learn!_

Her mother is definitely her favorite tutor.

* * *

 **04\. Academy**

Renata is eleven when her parents send her away to a boarding school.

Her mother has run out of things to teach her.

"In bocca al lupo!" Her mother's voice sings as she steps away from the front door of the dormitory building. "Crepi. I'll see you in a few months, Mamma." Renata, resigned to her fate, does not even try to feign enthusiasm.

Unaffected by her daughter' deadpan reply, the older woman continues, melodramatically, "You were born for this; do your best, Ren-chan! And write Mamma and Papa lots, okay?"

"Yes, Mamma." And then, exasperation bleeding into her tone, "Yes, I'll remember to write." _To you, anyway. That man is another story; he's not really interested in anything I say._

She is less than thrilled to find that the door to her dormitory room has a plaque for Renato Sinclair, as well as a name she does not immediately recognize—her roommate's, she assumes. _Mamma... I should have known. I should have been much more suspicious when you agreed to let me cut my hair, and bought me more sets of boys' uniforms than girls'._

 _Conniving woman._

 _...I suppose I can be Renato Sinclair for a while. It will be good practice, which, I suppose, is exactly the point._ She sighs, and stands a little straighter, eyes narrowing in determination. _At least it is a name I chose and a personality not too far from my own._ Indeed, there are at least as many truths as lies in Renato— though the boy's origins and connection to the underworld are unknown.

Her lips curl into an arrogant smirk, eyes darkening with suppressed glee. _And it will be fun to see how long it takes everyone to catch on to the game, to discover that I am Renata instead, and that there is no last name on record at all._

Renato opens the door to her shared room to find a relatively tall, brunette boy already in residence. "Chaos." She murmurs to the stranger who will be sharing this home away from home with her.

"Who are you?" A hostile voice demands as soon as she enters the room.

Arching a brow, "You roommate." _Idiota , who did you think I was? _ Donning and expression of infinite patience, she hauls the hefty suitcase containing her things into the room, approaches the unoccupied bed, and begins unpacking. Completely nonchalant, despite the hostility previously directed at her.

"Oh." The boy fumbles for words, blushing faintly, "Umm. Sorry. I thought— never mind."

"Renato Sinclair." She gestures to the plaques on their door. "Call me Renato or Ren."

"Um... Timoteo di Vongola. But you already know that, I guess?" _Young, coltish, and shy,_ she analyzes. _Poorly socialized, but in a different way than I am._ "Timoteo or Teo is okay. Not Tim."

"Pleasure to meet you, Timoteo. As we're going to be cohabitating for the foreseeable future, I hope we can be... friends." _I would settle for vaguely hostile neutrality, at least._

"Ah, sure?"

"Great." _Aren't you just the vision of a social butterfly, Timoteo?_ Trying to learn a little more about her new roommate's interests, she asks, "...What sort of clubs are you thinking of joining?"

"Clubs?"

"Afterschool things. Sports, gardening, music— whatever. Didn't you look at the brochures for the Academy?" Her first impression of the boy is not being improved on.

"Not really. This was kind of a last-minute decision."

"Hm." _That sucks._ "I believe I have a brochure in my things, if you want to take a look. I myself am interested in linguistics, herpetology, and all things martial."

"..Her-herpetology?"

She correctly interprets his stumbling over the word as a lack of knowledge, "The study of amphibians, lizards, and the like." She gestures to the small green form perched on her shoulder; her partner in crime. "Like Leon here."

 ** _Hello, Timoteo di Vongola,_** said chameleon greets politely, though the words go unnoticed by all but Renato.

"Ah... Is he poisonous?"

"No." _Idiota_ , she decides firmly. "He's a chameleon." She deadpans, and turns back to her unpacking, careful to keep Timoteo in her peripheral vision. It wouldn't do to show her back to a stranger. Her mother taught her better than that.

Despite the rocky beginning, the unlikely pair becomes fast friends, of a sort.

Allies, at least.

* * *

It does not take long for Renato to discover that Timoteo is currently the sole heir of one of, if not the most powerful mafia family. In fact, it is depressingly easy to find information on him, both in the records of the school— _why didn't he think to falsify them?_ — and by listening in on conversations around campus. It's ridiculous how much gossip there is! She even learns his flame attribute within the first month.

Teo is a Sky— a Sky actively seeking guardians, which is why he is in Mafia School in the first place.

She is both glad and disappointed that her new friend— _ally_ — has already attracted a Sun Guardian. His flames, while strong and pure, do not call for her attention at all. _Would they have, if he did not already have a Sun? Hmft; like I care!_

 _Besides_ , she reasons, _I would hate to be renamed, like a pet dog. Especially something trite like Éclair or Mousse._ Her friend— _ally!_ — is an odd one.

Renato is nobody's pet. Whatever names she adopts, whatever roles she chooses to play in life— they are her own.

* * *

In contrast, it takes Timoteo what feels like forever to stumble upon any of Renato's secrets.

Over three years into their friendship, Timoteo accidentally walks in on Renato while she's changing.

"Teo. You forgot to knock." She admonishes, buttoning a sunflower-yellow long sleeved shirt, the bindings on her chest— something she'd had to adopt fairly recently to hide her growing curves— are painfully obvious.

Her friend is still sputtering, and the rather brilliant shade of red his face has turned is entirely unflattering. "Y-y-you're a girl!" He practically shrieks, voice breaking halfway through the exclamation.

"Scream a little louder," she murmurs with a toothy smirk, eyes narrowed slightly in distaste at the sudden noise. "I think someone in southern Italy didn't hear you."

"B-b-but we've been sharing a room!"

"And? Are you afraid I molested you in your sleep or something?"

Timoteo somehow manages to flush an even deeper red. He groans melodramatically before collapsing on his bed and muttering into his pillow, "Not proper. So very not proper. Is Renato even your name?!"

"Who cares?" She replies glibly, tucking in her shirt, then pulling on a carefully tailored black vest. "My parents obviously don't. And rest assured— I have no interest in you whatsoever. Beyond friendship, that is." She frowns. _I don't have that sort of interest in anyone, really._ "Feel free to continue treating me as a boy." She completely ignores his question about her name.

"Renaaatoooo, you're such a pain!" Timoteo whines, voice muffled by his pillow.

"...As always, I am surprised you've managed to survive Mafia School so far."

"Hey! What do you mean?"

"I mean... It's a miracle you're still alive. Spending years unaware of your best friend's gender? Despite living in the same room practically year-round?"

"That's unfair! You're too good at keeping secrets, Renato..."

"As I should be. And be thankful for that too, Teo. You should have fired whoever handles your security a hundred times over by now."

"N-no! It's not that bad, you're just unnaturally good at information gathering. At everything! Weirdo."

"...Teo?"

"Yeah?"

"It's unbecoming for a Mafioso, especially an heir like you, to stutter. Or whine, for that matter." Rolling up her sleeves to a little below her elbows, she settles on a semi-casual look. "Best up your game, Teo," She flashes a roguish smirk in his direction, "Regardless— you promised to go to the shooting range with me on our day off. We may as well go now."

The younger man groans again, but stands, straightening his clothes. "... Why are we friends again?"

* * *

Oh writing gods above, not another one.

(Why, muses, why?! I almost feel regret for reading so much KHR fanfiction... Almost.) The idea of an AU with a genderswapped Reborn refused to leave me alone until I wrote something. (The Mafia needs more terrifyingly badass women, okay?)

And then it kind of... spiraled out of control. A lot. (Meep.) Anyway, I decided to cut what would have been chapter one in half and post it as a little (rather belated) birthday gift for me.

...Worth continuing, do you think?


	2. Chapter 2

**Sunshine and Subterfuge**

 **Arc I - Bluebirds Fly**

* * *

 **05\. Tutor**

The same year that Timoteo discovers that 'Renato' is a mask— or at the very least, that his roommate is a girl and far more interesting then she seems to be at first glance— marks the first time Renato is coerced into becoming a tutor.

The situation is thus.

Renato is beginning the latter half of her secondary education at the academy, her _scuola secondaria di secondo grado_ — the equivalent of high school. She has successfully instilled at least a modicum of fearful respect in everyone she's come into contact with, both students and staff. This required deceit, calculated applications of brute force, and a rather frightening amount of blackmail.

Unsurprisingly, she is the top student in her year, and understandably smug about it. That accomplishment required only dedication to her studies. And if her studies occasionally required activities like sabotage, arson, and ferreting out her classmates darkest secrets and revealing them to the entire student body— well, this is Mafia School, isn't it?

Her exceptional academic ability, coupled with the fact absolutely no-one can discover any reliable information on 'him', means that Renato Sinclair has become something of a school idol, having attracted a very enthusiastic fan base. But while Renato has fans, acquaintances, and future business contacts, she keeps almost everyone at arm's length. The only human friend she has is Timoteo.

Is it any surprise that, for years, those in the know about Flames suspected she was a Cloud? There had even been betting pools as to her Flame nature. Renato quietly infiltrated one or two of the most potentially lucrative and would eventually make a small fortune— enough to fund the refurbishment of her first home.

Regardless, there is a surprising new downside to being in the top ten of the class that year. The majority of the 'academically inclined' upperclassmen have been forcibly volunteered to participate in their principal's new pet project: a Big Brother, Big Sister program, to help incoming students adjust to the school environment.

A few days into the new semester, they're corralled into the largest gymnasium on the property. The cavernous room is awash with the noise of gossiping students. Milling about are two distinct groups, separated by an invisible line: upperclassmen fourteen to nineteen years of age stay to the left of the podium and first year, eleven year old academy students, stand on the right. The two groups don't intermingle; they eye each other with curiosity and vague apprehension, respectively, as the principal approaches the podium and begins to speak.

Listening with only half an ear, Renato lingers at the back of the crowd, watching the scene with a sense of vague bemusement. Her fellow students leave a very respectful distance between themselves and her. Timoteo, who usually acts as a buffer between Renato and their classmates— the former's easygoing nature apparently makes Renato seem more approachable— has not been forced to volunteer. Renato strongly suspects politics are involved with that decision. Timoteo's grades are more than good enough nowadays.

 _Hm. I may have overdone it in that last 'friendly spar' with that senior student..._ Lips twitching upwards, her black eyes gleam as she recalls the details of that situation. A nearby classmate shudders upon noticing the malicious expression and backs away, slowly. "N-nevermind, Sinclair. I'll just— ask you about that homework assignment later."

Renato shrugs in response, thoughts focused elsewhere, or perhaps it is more accurate to say elsewhen.

 _The little fools should not have attempted to abscond with Leon._

 _True, I am a difficult person to find information on... But trying to abduct my partner to trade for scraps of info?_ _Unforgivable_ _, even if it was for a class assignment._

 _They really should know better by now._

 _ **Oi, Ren. You should probably pay attention; they'll call your name soon.**_ The chameleon in question— now found more often on Renato's shoulder or in her hair than in his terrarium— interrupts. Her train of thought stutters to a halt when she hears a call from the podium, where the principal has been replaced by a disgruntled looking staff member.

"Renato Sinclair, your charge will be Luce Giglio."

A slight hush falls over the gymnasium, as the upperclassmen lean forward slightly, searching for the poor soul that will be enduring Sinclair's presence for an extended period of time. Renato prowls through the crowd of her classmates and towards the podium, keeping a close eye on the nervous eleven year olds on the opposite side of the room. One breaks away from the pack, a dark-haired, blue-eyed waif, adorably puppy-like in demeanor.

 _Interesting... There aren't many girls at the academy._ Most women in their society are privately tutored and then quietly married off when of age. Briefly, Renato wonders if the administration has finally realized her actual gender.

 _Hm. Probably not._

She waves the idle thought away and turns to face her, hopefully temporary, new shadow. After executing a graceful bow, Renato tilts her head just so to the side, and intones. "Chaos— I am Renato Sinclair. A pleasure to meet you, Miss."

"Aa..." Luce's cheeks flush a light pink at the sudden attention, or perhaps due to Renato's roguish smile, but she regains her footing quickly. "Ciao! I'm Luce Giglio. Please call me Luce, okay?" A bright smile.

A flicker of invisible Flame.

A Sky.

A young, Flame-active Sky.

 _ **Well, well. Now this is starting to look like a proper conspiracy. What do you think, Ren? Are they trying to attach you to any Sky they can find?**_ _ **Selling you to the highest bidder?**_

Disregarding her partner's paranoid words, Renato offers an arm to Luce, "Alright, Miss Luce. I believe I owe you a tour of the campus, and perhaps a bit of the surrounding area... Shall we?"

Interestingly enough, Luce knows almost immediately that Renato is a girl. She is, however, intelligent enough not to comment on it until they're better acquainted.

Renato soon learns that it is practically impossible to hide a secret of that magnitude from a clairvoyant Sky, or even from a Sky with strong intuition— not for long. Such people are anathema to individuals that hoard information... Luckily, that Sky nature also makes her remarkably likeable. Luce quickly becomes less of an adorable burden, and more of a friend. Nevertheless, Renato, worried about an unintentional harmonization, maintains exquisitely careful control of her Flames around her young tagalong.

Despite that, barely a week after their first meeting, when Luce requests help with the intimidating amount of homework her teachers have piled on her shoulders, Renato has no second thoughts about agreeing. Not even when their tutoring sessions change from review to Renato teaching her material that her classes won't cover for weeks.

* * *

 **06\. Quirks**

During her time at the academy, Renato develops several very noticeable quirks. She later maintains that Luce is entirely at fault for at least two, if not wholly responsible for all of them. After all, has anyone studied the psychological repercussions of chronic exposure to a teenage Sky searching for their elements?

The first quirk that develops is Renato's obsession with the perfect cup of coffee. Not that the future 'Greatest Hitman' in question hadn't developed a dependence on caffeine prior to meeting Luce... But the younger girl somehow knows all of the best cafés in town and insists they try the various delights available in each and every one during her many tutoring sessions. Supposedly, it's a treat for Renato, in exchange for the older girl's help.

The tutor in question retaliates by pushing Luce through the entirety of the first year of coursework required at the academy in the span of one semester. Luce is a fantastic student, though her self-esteem occasionally wavers. When motivated, she can rival even Renato's sheer drive to succeed. The nature of Renato's Flames— Activation— certainly help her push the younger girl to excel. Those that would someday encounter Reborn's style of teaching would be surprised; there are remarkably few explosions.

As the pair grows close, coffee and pastries becomes something of a shared passion for the two of them.

* * *

It's the end of exam week.

 _Fall semester is finally over,_ Renato muses, uncertain what to feel. Glad to be going home, to see Mamma? Unhappy regarding the awkwardness that will ensue when she spends time in her father's presence? They had grown even further apart after she left for the academy.

 _How on earth did Mamma manage to convince Papa that_ _Mafia School_ _was a good idea? Or... does he not know anything at all? Is she just an actress to him? A pretty thing to dote on when the mood strikes him, to be set aside when his interest is otherwise engaged?_

She knows the relationship between her parents has been strained since she revealed her more unusual abilities. That is likely part of the reason her father had said nothing about her mother's choice of private schools. Though the fact the academy is referred to as 'Mafia School' is limited to very select circles.

Still, the silence demanded by omertà... Those that have immediate family in the Mafia, even if those family members linger on the edges of that society, can be informed. After all, civilian family members make the easiest targets.

The awkwardness at home became worse when she had decided to maintain the illusion of Renato even while on vacation. Her mother laughed. Her father took one look at his daughter and walked away, locking the door to the library behind him.

 _Hm. Let's think of something more pleasant. What sort of gift I should buy Luce for Christmas?_ _Some adorable knick-knacks for her dorm room?_ _A makeup kit designed for creating quick disguises?_

 _So many options..._

Timoteo, she's already decided, will be receiving some kind of personal sidearm— most likely a pistol, personally modified by one Renato Sinclair. That little pet project will give her a legitimate excuse to lock herself in her room for at least part of winter vacation.

 _I am little tempted to play to the American stereotype and acquire a Tommy gun for him. But... too easy. And too bulky, besides. He needs something easy to hide._

Renato is perched on a metal chair— calling to mind the image of a dark, sleek bird of prey— an interesting contrast to the whimsical style of the furniture, which is typical of French cafés the world over. Looming possessively over a freshly-brewed cup of espresso, she sips slowly, savoring the flavor.

"Luce is running late," she comments idly. "...Should I try one of those dark chocolate croissants she mentioned?" Nobody is there to comment about her habit of speaking to her partner out loud. The café is sparsely populated, just Renato and a trio of older girls— locals, maybe sixteen or seventeen?— giggling in a booth over on the other side of the room.

Leon, lounging on her shoulder, raises his head in curiosity. _**Do I get to try a piece?**_

"I'll buy some chocolate-coated crickets the next time I visit Chocolate Delights; those should be more to your taste," she replies. Renato had been considering taking a trip to the candy store within the next few days— to restock her supply of dark chocolate and coffee flavored treats before leaving for home for the Christmas holiday. Doing so sooner rather than later would be no hassle.

 _ **...Deal.**_

"Spoiled." Reaching up, she gently strokes a finger down the green chameleon's back.

 _ **You know you love me.**_

"Hm." Renato hides her smile behind her cup, taking another languid sip of coffee. Her thoughts on the matter are interrupted by a cheery exclamation. "Hi Ren!" Luce chirps, loudly, in Renato's ear, hoping to surprise her mentor. She's been attempting to sneak up on her for the past month or so, and has been entirely unsuccessful... as far as she can tell.

 _A lesser man would flinch, would be surprised._ Renato gloats internally. Just a little. _Or should I say, a lesser woman?_ On the outside, she remains relaxed, unmoved by Luce's attempt to startle her. "Excellent try, Lulu." She praises, because of course she noticed when Luce arrived at the café, despite her apparent fascination with her favorite beverage.

"Oh, drat!" Luce sighs melodramatically as she takes a seat across from Renato, the shopping bag she'd been carrying is dropped beside her chair with a quiet thump. "Foiled again!" Lower lip jutting out in a pout, Luce directs the full strength of her blue eyes at Renato, "How did you knowww?"

 _Nice puppyish expression, Lulu._

"I'm awesome like that." The older girl answers without answering. "So..." She drawls, "To what do I owe the honor of your company, Lulu? Classes are over for now, after all."

Luce ignores her tutor's question; turnabout is fair play. "You know what you need, Renato? You need a hat. Your look practically demands a hat."

A noncommittal hum. "You think so?" Another sip of espresso. She eyes her younger friend over the rim of her cup, expression skeptical.

"Definitely! A lady-killer like you needs a hat."

"Hmmm. Mafia seduction? A useful skill, that's true..." To contrast her pensive, relatively serious tone, Renato wags her eyebrows theatrically.

She gets the desired reaction— light, bell-like laughter. "Ren!" Luce giggles helplessly. "You're impossible."

" _Moi_? Impossible? Not at all. Just confident." Renato's lips briefly quirk upward, eyes glittering with amusement as she explains. "Ladies are attracted to confidence. And to gentlemen that can make them laugh."

"And to debonair gentleman... that wear hats!" Luce retorts, bending down to retrieve something from her shopping bag. She brandishes her treasure, a box wrapped in bright orange paper, grinning cheekily. "That's why I got you a present! Well, that and I needed to get you a thanks-for-being-a-brilliant -mentor present, and maybe a thanks-for-helping-me-pass-my-exams present, and definitely a Christmas present..." Her cheeks tinting a light pink, she plops the parcel on the table between them— carefully. To avoid spilling either of their drinks.

She pushes the gift towards her friend and urges, "Open it, open it!"

Unhurried despite Luce's words, Renato sets her espresso aside, and retrieves her gift, flipping the wrapped box over a few times in her hands. Slipping fingers under the strip of tape that's holding the wrapping secure, she slowly unwraps her present. Luce is practically vibrating in her seat, eyes sparkling with excitement.

The box is opened to reveal a black fedora, accented with a burnt orange ribbon. _Is this... Flame resistant?_ Running a finger over the fabric, channeling just a hint of Flame confirms her suspicions. But Flame-resistant fabric is rare, and thus costly. _You're a strange one, Lulu._ She slips the hat on, flashing a playful grin. "Hm. I suppose it will have to do."

"It suits you!" The younger girl exclaims, clasping hands together in front of her chest. "It's perfect; I'm so glad!"

A pause, and then Renato speaks in a more serious tone, letting the grin ease into a more honest smile, "Thank you, Luce. I will treasure it."

The Sky smiles serenely in response, "I know. And you really did need a hat."

* * *

The second quirk Luce nurtures is Renato's habit of flirting outrageously. She handles this less overtly than the coffee addiction, carefully encouraging the habit with her own actions, and by pointing out others'— how malleable their classmates are when infatuated, how easily led astray with just a few words or a pretty face.

In part, this is designed to protect her friend, to strengthen her mask—who would think the dashing young man that flirts so shamelessly with every lovely lady he meets is actually a woman?

Many years from now, Renato could be one of her staunchest allies. She has seen it, though the exact details remain shrouded from her eyes. Luce Giglio wants to protect her mentor and friend. The future Donna of the Giglio Nero wants to build strong ties with someone that will undoubtedly be influential in a few short years.

So Renato adds a new aspect to her mask. And while she feels no particular attraction to either gender, she understands what other people appreciate, and puts that knowledge to use. Besides, Renato delights in making others dance to her tune; flirting is just one more means to do so. There is never any malicious intent, not on her part, and she never takes the game so far as to genuinely hurt her partners' feelings.

Besides, with her assumed gender, there are certain expectations— so she plays it up.

It really is Luce's fault that Renato Sinclair will one day be known as a Casanova.

* * *

 **07\. Ottava**

There is only one other person that recognizes almost immediately that 'Renato Sinclair' is a construct of Renata's imagination— Daniela di Vongola.

The fact is obvious to the older Mafioso. So much so, that immediately after she sets eyes on her son's school friend and roommate, she smirks, commenting, "How long did it take for Timoteo to figure it out?"

She wants to scowl— a secret known to so many people is hardly a secret at all— but Renato smiles beatifically instead, newly gifted fedora tilted forward slightly to cast her dark eyes in shadow. "...Three years, Donna Vongola." _Your heir is not nearly as perceptive as you, Ottava Vongola._ _What of the infamous Vongola Intuition?_

Timoteo blushes fiercely and stutters in denial of this fact, claiming he's known all along.

 _Oh, really?_ Renato thinks, her smile becoming something more appropriate for a Cheshire cat. "And he's remarkably easy to embarrass."

"I've no doubt you take advantage of that at every opportunity." Daniela laughs as Timoteo flushes an even darker red.

"I do indeed. Teo needs someone to keep his head from inflating too much." _Considering how much everyone dotes on him due to his position._ Renato bows deeply, flashing what, on someone older, would definitely be construed as a flirtatious grin. "Renato Sinclair. A pleasure to finally have the opportunity to meet you, Signora."

Coal black eyes meet the laughing blue ones of the leader of the Vongola, and Renato recognizes something familiar in the infamous, formidable woman.

"Oho? I like you, little sunshine. Your friendship will be good for my son."

Internally, Renato admits she's more than a little star struck by the Donna. Or should that be Sky struck? She doesn't even frown at the embarrassing nickname.

 _So this is what it's like— a powerful Sky attraction._

It's futile.

The Donna Vongola does not lack guardians, has never lacked guardians, not since she was in her early teens. Renato is uninterested in being second best to anyone; nor is she interested in being formally tied to a Family.

 _And yet... and yet._

Decades later, the hitman that had once been known as Renato Sinclair hears that Daniela di Vongola, beloved matriarch of the Vongola Family, has died in her sleep.

Situated in a private corner of her favorite café—at least, her favorite in this particular city— Reborn sips an exquisitely prepared hazelnut-flavored coffee, and remembers a most formidable woman.

 _Such a fierce and brilliant Sky._

Briefly, she wonders what her life would have been like, had Daniela been her roommate instead of Teo. Timoteo is a good friend, an acceptable employer, and a strong Sky... but he did not inherit his mother's unnatural charisma. And he does not even come close to rivaling the purity of her Flames. In the years that have passed since their first meeting, Reborn has not met another like her. That is why she remains unattached to any Sky.

A soundless sigh.

And then, the moment has passed.

* * *

 **08\. Lost  
**

Something is wrong.

Renato has felt off for days— uneasy. Furious, she'd hunted for the source of the feeling. Her inability to pinpoint the cause drove her to argue with Timoteo, and the boy had returned home for the weekend, leaving Renato alone.

 _Peace and quiet... and_ _still_ _the feeling persists!_

"Leon." Renato addresses the chameleon lounging in the new, spacious terrarium placed on her work desk, an unexpected gift from the Ottava Vongola. "I'm going out. Stay out of trouble." Seething internally, she flees the comfort of her room, intending to find a sparring partner to vent her frustrations on.

She returns three hours later, somewhat calmer after having vented her frustrations on a handful of unfortunate volunteers. She finds the cause of her disquiet on her desk: a letter, addressed to Renato, in her mother's delicate script. Leon lounges beside the envelope, having abandoned the cozy aquarium that is his home to guard his partner's mail.

 _ **They delivered it a few minutes after you left, Ren.**_

"Thank you, Leon." She comments distractedly, the envelope already in her hands. A feeling of dread churns in her gut as she slices the envelope open with a thin blade— a letter opener disguised in the stem of an ornamental metal rose, a birthday present from her mother.

 _This is it._

Minutes pass, the silence of the room disturbed only by Renato's steady breathing and the shuffle of paper as she reads.

And then rereads.

And then rereads again.

She stares at the innocuous envelope, discarded on her desk, face eerily blank of emotion. Then she turns her attention back to the letter in her hand. The letter explaining her mother's failing health had been the reason she'd not been invited home for Easter holidays. The letter that stated it would only arrive after the woman that wrote it is already gone from this world.

 **Don't mourn my death too deeply, dearest child. I have known my end was coming for a long, long time, and I am so very happy to be free of this sickbed. How strange that I pass due to my own weakness, and not from a bullet or a blade!**

Renato flips again through the pages, staring at the end of the letter, at her mother's last words to her.

 **My sweet sun, you are the greatest gift I have ever received.**

 **I love you.**

 **Keep dreaming! Keep fighting! Keep reaching for the sky!**

 **Arrivederci,**

 **Mamma**

She laughs bitterly, tears sliding down her cheeks. **Keep reaching—** _Mamma... Please. Let this be a nightmare, a lie, a_ **— for the sky.**

She laughs until the laughter turns to pained gasps, barely muffled by her sleeve. Until her eyes hurt from crying, and the tears dry on her cheeks.

 **Keep reaching for the sky.**

 _...Even though you were a Mist. Mamma, if anyone could have been my Sky, it was you. Please!_

 **Keep reaching—**

 _Don't leave me alone!_

 **Arrivederci.**

She receives a notice regarding the funeral the next day, but Renato cannot attend. The funeral was two days ago.

It rains.

At her very core, fifteen year old Renato burns— a cold fire, all sorrow and helpless fury. Is it the last remnants of the child that had been named Renata burning away? She has been Renato for years now, after all. Is she the mask, or is there still a girl hiding underneath?

* * *

Renato returns to the two-story house that had been her home only one last time, for a brief summer vacation.

The house feels empty.

She drifts from room to room, listless— watching, listening, analyzing. Her mother's things—jewelry, costumes, precious mementos, family albums— have all been meticulously packed and moved into the attic. Mamma has willed everything to Renato.

And her father?

A different woman every night. False laughter and wine. An abandoned library. It almost feels like the man is celebrating his wife's death instead of mourning. After two weeks of this of this, Renato applies for a summer program at the academy. She quietly arranges for her mother's things to be moved into storage off-site, under her name.

Upon retrieving her belongings, Renato disappears from her father's house, and from his life. There is no goodbye, but— _no matter what, I won't be coming back._

Her father dies of alcohol poisoning several years after Renato Sinclair finishes school. She doesn't attend the funeral. And although she ensures the gravestones are well-kept, and visits both her parent's graves on an arbitrary date once a year... flowers are delivered only to her mother's grave.

* * *

 **09\. Challenges**

At fifteen, aspiring Mafioso at the academy are introduced to potential careers. Even those that are heir to mafia families go through the internships— everything from bodyguard duty, to gathering blackmail, to freelancing as a hitman. The tasks are more challenging than those they have been given in class, testing all of the more esoteric skills that have been drilled into them over the years.

Renato is sixteen when she finds her calling.

The contract asks for an 'up close and personal' delivery of well-deserved justice to one Adriano Russo, a young twenty-something with green eyes and disheveled sandy blond hair. Much as she loves firearms, Renato would prefer doing something more discreet than a shot to the head. _Ah well. As they say: beggar can't be choosers._

It takes half a week to confirm the target's location— a small town in Sardinia, Italy. She packs a backpack with the essentials, including a variety of casual clothes, toiletries, and enough cash to last several weeks, and purchases a train ticket. Considering her age, it's easiest to pose as a student; she could be taking a short hiatus from school, or merely playing hooky.

Arriving in the early evening, she locates a decent hostel, notes it on her map, and proceeds to investigate the area. According to the records, the town is relatively small, housing perhaps ten thousand people, and known for its tightly-packed, brightly colored homes. One in ten thousand is still a needle in a haystack. Though while tourists pass through, but it's not a particularly popular destination. _Well_ , Renato muses, _at least this place has a certain charm._ The cobblestone streets are narrow, and she can spot plenty of discreet nooks and crannies. All things considered, it's a relatively cozy place to retire, but not a great one to disappear in. _My target is not very bright, is he?_

Over the next few days, she gathers information on Adriano Russo's movements, bargaining with the local homeless and native insect life equally— money for the former, and overripe apples for the latter. Upon learning that Russo is a local and fond of bar-hopping until early in the morning, she builds her plan accordingly.

* * *

Dressed in dark slacks, a burnt orange shirt, and worn leather jacket, Renato easily blends in to a group of teenagers and twenty-somethings. She's exploring the town's limited nightlife with a few tourists staying at the same hostel as her. As the night progresses, she steers her new acquaintances towards one of Russo's favorite bars.

Inside, Renato spends her time playfully flirting with a lovely brunette from Munich named Greta, and then an even lovelier barmaid named Eva, only occasionally sipping her beer to maintain appearances. Despite looking relaxed, perhaps even a little tipsy, she keeps a careful eye on the door. Adriano Russo walks enters the bar around eleven forty-five, all smiles and laughter. As the hours pass, Renato moves to a quiet corner, and lurks there with her half-finished beer, watching the man get more and more inebriated as night continues. It's a long wait.

When her target, looking more than a little green around the gills— in other words, nauseated— stumbles out the back door an hour before closing time, Renato waits a few moments before striding out the front. She slips away from the brightly-lit street and into the alleyway behind the bar.

Russo stands, arms outstretched, braced against the wall as he retches. Vomit pools on the ground beside a particularly fetid-smelling dumpster. She wrinkles her nose in distaste, and approaches silently, gun already in hand. Her target has the bad luck to turn around suddenly and notice the weapon pointed at his head.

Murky green eyes widen with terror and Russo blanches, stuttering and slurring his words, "Sheeet! W-wait!" He fumbles through his pockets, hands shaking. "Jusht, jusht, take my wallet— take whatever!"

"Hm. It's not about that." There is just a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth as Renato replies, weapon steady.

"Wha?" The man looks almost comically confused.

 _Idiota._ She scoffs internally, _Going to the police with information about a rival in another famiglia? It's a wonder the Vindice didn't take you for breaking omert_ _à_ _. Then again... perhaps they prefer that the less egregious offences are handled internally._

Outwardly, she remains unperturbed. "Arrivederci, Signore. Regards from the Grigio." she purrs, expression calm despite the staccato beat of her heart.

"You're—?!"

 **Bang, Bang!** — A wisp of grey and the aroma of gunsmoke, the metallic taste of blood in the air, the combination momentarily distracting her from the smell of fermenting trash and vomit.

Two perfect shots; one to the head, one to the heart.

 **Thump**. The body slumps gracelessly to the ground, a puppet with its strings cut. Sightless eyes directed upwards, her target's face slackens in death.

It's not her first kill— she's dealt with the implications of ending another human's life already, nightmares included— but it is her first contract hit. The first time she's had the opportunity to stalk and eliminate her prey. The academy gave her little more than a name and photograph. Her sources found the reason for the hit and located the target, her mind designed the plan, and her hands carried out the deed...

Adrenaline sings in her veins as she secures the pistol back in its holster, beneath her jacket. Pleasure curls in her belly, the satisfaction of a job well done, of a challenge overcome. Turning, she casually ambles away; she's far from the scene of the crime when the commotion starts, when the body is finally found. Renato takes a circuitous route back to the hostel she'd been residing in the past few days, to change and settle her bill before heading back to the academy.

And once she is safely home in her dorm, she considers the experience. _What a thrill. I wonder... would it feel like this every time?_ The fedora angled to shade the upper half of her face makes her Cheshire smile stand out all the more. An almost unnaturally wide smile— _there is always another snitch and the world has no shortage of scum. I would_ _never_ _run out of challenges. And perhaps the next target will be sober enough to try to escape, or fight back._

 _Yes. I think I know now._

 _Renata was a child, playing with different masks, searching for purpose._

 _...Arrivederci_ _, Renata— you are to be reborn._

 _I am forever Renato Sinclair, aspiring hitman, and no one else. I choose the roles I play, and I decide my own path._

* * *

 **10\. Attached**

In her early twenties, Renato Sinclair cuts a striking figure.

Tall and deceptively slender, with lean muscles hidden beneath clothes tailored with meticulous care, the hitman is never seen without 'his' iconic suit and fedora. More precisely, Renato is never recognized without said attire, which suits her just fine. The shoulders of her jackets and several of her dress shirts are discreetly padded to provide the illusion of a broader, more masculine frame without the use of Mist. The tailor responsible is one Renato has known since her teens, a woman lauded both for her skill with a needle and thread and her discretion. While Renato could modify her own clothes, she prefers to maintain only her costumes— her more recognizable attire is left to the care of said tailor. Especially considering her suits are made from Flame-resistant fabric, and thus exquisitely expensive. In other words, prohibitively expensive for just about everyone.

 _Luckily, deception and death remains a highly lucrative business._

The illusion of the infamous hitman is complete. And when Renato wants her privacy, when she wants to be someone utterly harmless and invisible, she uses Sun Flames to grow out her hair, and dons the mask that is Renée. Just for a little while. Renata is, unfortunately, far too distinctive a name.

At twenty-five, Renato is free.

Free to chase the title of World's Greatest— she is not the sort that can stand being second best to anyone. One of the benefits of being a freelancer is the fact that Renato has no obligation to accept a contract. And although she has only been in the business a few short years, she is one of the best, which means she has the most interesting and challenging jobs available to choose from. That is why she laughed in Timoteo's face when he mentioned the Varia is interested in recruiting her, and wouldn't formalizing her association with the Vongola, even if it is in a very loose sense, be good?

No, Renato much prefers her freedom.

And then, at twenty-five, she meets her second official student for the first time.

It's a simple mission, a request from the Giglio Nero— a little information gathering. Renato accepts, because Luce asks personally, and because she herself is curious about that new famiglia, the Crisantemo. According to the rumor mill, they are trying to build an alliance with the Estraneo. The latter are notorious for their rather loose morals, and their out-of-the-box thinking when developing useful technology. The ingenuity of the Estraneo is rivaled by a select few: a handful of contractors that work almost exclusively for the Vongola, and perhaps one or two among the Bovino.

She scouts a handful of locations personally, finding several warehouses owned by the Mafioso in question, and sends a group of completely innocuous spies for a closer look. Beetles and moths, insects she'd nurtured in the backyard of one of her more favored safe houses, bred to be loyal and with greater intelligence than average for their species. And when they report back about a small human in a cage, Renato's curiosity gets the best of her.

Two days' worth of observation of that particular warehouse reveals that it would be easiest to infiltrate at night. Their security is relatively shoddy after sunset; there are only four guards present after ten at night, and they spend most of their time playing poker. _Amateurs,_ Renato sneers as she slips in through the back door, having picked the lock.

It doesn't take her long to find the so-called 'small human' that her allies mentioned; she checks the first four rooms she encounters—relatively benign office space— rifling through the paperwork present, before finding a room filled with empty metal cages. They are sized for large dogs, and thus are large enough to hold, at best, a crouching teenager. She gets a sinking feeling; the 'small human' is most likely a very young child.

The stench in the room is unpleasant— _fear, piss, and misery—_ but the cages in her immediate view are all empty. Still, there is rapid, harsh breathing, interrupted only by an occasional racking cough, coming from somewhere to the left. Renato heads in that direction.

She finds a small, shivering form, covered with dirt. A child, curled into a fetal position at the back of a metal cage. The only item in the cage is a cotton sheet, being used as a makeshift blanket. _A child treated like a dog._ Yes, the underworld the mafia inhabits is filled with depravity and death, but— there are few completely vile, amoral individuals. Frowning, Renato crouches beside the cage, and looks closer. The child coughs again, shoulders shaking with the intensity, and she can sense a flicker of power.

 _A child with active Flames._

She can't determine exactly what Flame type without closer scrutiny, though she instinctively knows he isn't a Sky. An active Sky pulls at unattached elements... and one so young? The likelihood of what looks like a preschooler having guardians is laughable. Even a very weak Sky would subconsciously try to attract her attention.

Renato suppresses a sigh. _I'm just a meddler at heart, I suppose_. Slipping a lock pick into her hand, she gets to work. _Exploiting such a young Flame-active is not something I can overlook. Especially considering this famiglia is probably unaware of Flames._ The child does not notice her, until the lock opens with a loud click, and she pulls it off the door.

Doe-like brown eyes blink fearfully in her direction as she opens the door. "Chaos, little one. I am Renato." She reaches into the cage, half-expecting to be bitten for her trouble. The child stares at the intruder in shock, before suspicion clouds brown eyes. But he or she takes the offered hand after a few tense seconds, whispering a hesitant hello.

Renato hums her approval, helping the little one out of the cage. "Think you can walk? Or do you need me to carry you?"

"Walk." The soft voice proclaims.

"Stay quiet, or they will find us." The teary expression that she receives in response is a little disconcerting. _Shit, Ren. Be more careful with your words, unless you want the brat wailing in fear._

They sneak back out of the warehouse without any problem. Once outside, Renato convinces the child to ride piggyback, and hightails it out of the area. A few blocks away, when the threat of discovery is decreased, she appropriates a car. She drives like a demon, and discreetly interrogates her new acquaintance at the same time. They stop only to acquire food— a few sandwiches and bottled water, for the boy— and to switch vehicles. It's well past midnight when they finally arrive at one of her more secluded safe houses, one placed in neutral territory. Later still, after a hastily prepared snack and a bath, she finally manages to convince the child to go to sleep.

Looking down at the newly-orphaned boy occupying the sole bed in the house, Renato wonders— _what the hell am I doing? I can't afford to get attached. I don't even like kids! ...Alright, that's a bald-faced lie, and I know it. But even if he_ _is_ _an adorable ball of fluff, human children aren't pets._ And why is she even considering keeping the boy?

 _No._ Raising the child herself would be an impossible task. _My job takes me away from home for weeks to months at a time; he's_ _far_ _too young to take care of himself._ A soft sigh. Renato reaches up and gently tugs at the curl of hair masquerading as a sideburn. _I would make a shitty guardian anyway._ She affirms with a slight nod. _Well, I suppose there's no harm in him staying the night. I'll check him over for injuries one more time tomorrow morning, and then look for an appropriate guardian._

Renato strides out of the small bedroom, leaving the door ajar, just in case. Heading to the kitchen, she retrieves a bottle from the refrigerator, removing the metal cap and discarding it.

 _What a mess._

Leaning against the kitchen countertop, she takes a slow sip of the chilled beer, body still while her thought race. _On that note, something will have to be done about the Crisantemo_. Her expression hardens as she mulls over the options. She could involve herself directly, but that would increase the likelihood of her little 'rescue operation' becoming public knowledge. That, in turn, would increase the chances of the child being recaptured, if not by the Crisantemo, then by another group. Flame-active Family members are highly sought after, and children are malleable, easy to manipulate. Additionally, if the reasons behind the rescue— Renato's weakness to children— becomes known...

 _Handling this with my own two hands is something I cannot afford. If my position in the underworld was more secure, perhaps— but it is useless to speculate._

She smiles as an idea comes to her, eyes glimmering with malice. _Yes, something a touch more discreet than a rain of bullets from one Renato Sinclair would be more appropriate._ Reaching for the phone set on the kitchen counter, she dials a memorized number.

It rings once, twice, three times before a click sounds, and she hears a familiar voice, slurred by sleep.

"God. Ren, do you realize what time it is?"

"Hm." _Funny—you immediately assume I'm the one calling. Then again; this is a private line._ "That favor you owe me. For the dress incident." She's accrued over half a dozen personal favors, both small and large, from Timoteo. It is unsurprising; they have been friends for over a decade, even if they have drifted apart since he took over as Don Vongola a few years prior. This will be a relatively minor favor in the grand scheme of things.

"Time, Renato. Time." Timoteo grumbles into the phone, obviously exasperated, "It's the middle of the fucking night. I have to be up in—" A pause as he fumbles for the clock, "Three hours."

"Teo," she intones with a harsh scowl. _As if I would call at this time of night if it wasn't important._

"Right, right. Never mind. Although the next time you want to discuss business, can you call during normal hours? Please?"

"All hours are business hours, Timoteo." _Especially in our line of work._ Given the melodramatic groan coming from the receiver, no doubt her friend can hear the amusement in her voice. She ignores it. "And this is a personal favor, not strictly business... Anyway— it might be worthwhile to send someone to look into the Crisantemo Famiglia. They're pushing into Chiavaroneterritory, and they deal with human trafficking... I assume things will take care of themselves naturally from there."

A long pause. "Dare I ask what they did to piss you off?"

"Hm? I merely wished to express my disapproval of their methods to someone that I know would feel similarly. I don't have the time to handle things personally, in this particular case." _I might tell you later. Especially if the little one will join a Family, whether now or in the future. I'd rather he be the ward of someone trustworthy._

A sigh. "No, it's probably better if I don't know. Thanks for the intel; I'll take care of it in the morning. Ciao, Renato."

* * *

The boy, who chooses to rename himself Shamal, proves to be a rather sickly child. This is less due to his actual constitution, and more because of his wild imagination, likely fed by his experiences at the hands of the Crisantemo. Shamal is a hypochondriac with uncontrolled Mist flames— he creates diseases through imagination and Mist. A terrifying application of the Flame aspect of Construction. Still, as long as Shamal is inclined to believe that his rescuer can cure any and all of his ailments with her Sun Flames, Renato does not mind overmuch.

The precocious child quickly flourishes under her care.

Shamal is gifted with intelligence and pure, if poorly controlled, Mist Flames. And survival provides enough of a motivation to excel. One of her public personas, one that is not openly connected with the Mafia, quietly adopts her new student shortly after retrieving him— such talent cannot be trusted to a famiglia. Not one the size of the Vongola. And even the Giglio Nero contains elements that would exploit him; any mafia family would.

 _I'm not_ _attached_ _._ Renato grumbles internally at Leon's playful teasing. _Let alone 'an overprotective mama bear'! This is simply the most logical course of action._

* * *

 **11\. Messenger**

At twenty-seven, Renato Sinclair is acknowledged as the World's Greatest Hitman.

The term assassin would technically be more accurate, since she disavows membership in any famiglia.

Regardless, she is well-known and respected among the Mafioso, particularly those in Europe. Publicly, she maintains loose ties with the Vongola and Giglio Nero, and accepts missions from any famiglia that has access to Mafia Land— that is, mafia families that abstain from human trafficking, the drug trade and such. Accordingly, the hitman also maintains a modicum of ethics, for example: while she would kill anyone, even a child, in self-defense, she categorically refuses all contract hits on children, and prefers to avoid contracts on civilians in general. However, this knowledge is limited to a list of missing, presumed dead, Mafioso that attempted to trick her into crossing those boundaries, as well as to her inner circle of friends.

As always, Renato Sinclair has rivals, allies, fans, and acquaintances aplenty. Her friends number four: Timoteo, Luce, her current chameleon, named Leon as usual, and her precocious seven year old ward, Shamal.

* * *

"An aggravating day." Renato grumbles under her breath. She feigns being entirely unflappable, but today has tested even her patience.

 _ **At least the death was taken as a tragic accident, as requested?**_

"Hm." Renato hums her agreement, fiddling with the house keys in her pocket as she climbs the stairs to the fifth floor of the apartment building. "Luck." _Considering I had to orchestrate a plausible accident on the fly... well, the results were a perhaps more comical than tragic._

Leon shuffles around his favorite perch— the fedora Renato always dons when not incognito— and peers over the edge of the brim. _**Home?**_

"More or less." Apartment 504 in this particular building is the current official residence of Renato Sinclair. The rooms have been heavily modified to accommodate her needs— a fact no one can complain about, as Renato has ownership of the building. Acquired under a pseudonym, of course. Her ward and student resides in an understated cottage, about a half hour's drive away, and Renato usually splits her time between the two homes.

The keys jingle softly as she unlocks the unassuming door— a slab of dark wood, thicker than average due to the sheet of metal hidden inside. The walls are similarly treated, and the soundproofing adds an extra layer of security as well. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say she rebuilt this particular suite of rooms from the floor up, rather than modified.

Stepping inside the apartment, she pauses. _Something is off. Someone was here..._ Hair prickling on the back of her neck; she's being watched. _No, someone_ _is_ _here._ Renato feigns ignorance, shrugging off her suit jacket and folding it over her arm, making her holstered gun more easily accessible, but also limiting the use of her left arm, if only momentarily. She strides into her bedroom, where she carefully hangs up said jacket, and calmly rolls up her sleeves.

She returns to the living room, eyes sharp, her expression the blankness of forced calm. "You may as well come out."

A deep, if quiet, chuckle. "My, my, my... What exceptional instincts. I see your reputation is well earned, Renato Sinclair." The odd man suddenly seated on her sofa is tall, taller than her, and dressed in an odd costume— she is instantly certain that nothing, not even the blonde hair and pale skin, is actually part of his natural appearance. It is likely even his voice is modified.

 _How could he—? What_ _is_ _he?!_ _I can't sense his presence worth a damn, despite the fact that I can see him._ None of those thoughts are broadcast on her face. Renato eyes the stranger with a vague feeling of trepidation, maintaining her relaxed stance. "Naturally. But you  do know that it is rude to turn up in a person's home, uninvited?"

Leon blinks, edging away from the rim of Renato's fedora. _**Ren... Be careful. I can't sense his presence. He might not even be here physically... What a dangerous human.**_

"I have a proposition for you."

Renato releases a noncommittal hum in response, arching a brow.

"Yes. I am gathering a team of the strongest, most talented individuals in the world... The _I prescelti sette_ , you could say. I want you to join."

"Whatever for?"

"A handful of exceptionally challenging missions. It's just a little... teamwork experiment. Don't worry; you will be paid handsomely for your time. The first meeting is set in a month."

 _Interesting_. Renato does not voice her thought, but her other eyebrow rises to joins its mate.

Another disquieting laugh from the intruder. "Think about it, that's all I ask... You can always quit after the first meeting; no repercussions." The man flashes a smile, and an invisible shudder works its way up Renato's spine. Her instincts scream that there is something very, very wrong with that smile, with that man, with this situation.

"Well, I suppose I ought to head out. The details are on the table, there." A large Manilla envelope appears on the coffee table as he gestures. And then the man's shadow writhes, as if it is alive, and envelops the strange man. He is gone. As if he was never there.

" _Cazzo_! ...I'm probably going to have to move."

 _ **Even if he was never there in the first place? Though I suppose he had to be here to leave that envelope.**_

 _An impossibly powerful Mist?_

Renato has proven surprisingly immune to illusions so far, even illusions created by Mists acclaimed for their power. She knows her own mind intimately, a necessity when she spends so much time pretending to be other people. She knows herself, her limitations, and her perception of the world, which hinders a Mist's ability to twist her reality. Or so she theorizes.

Renato paces the living room like an irate jungle cat, eyes scanning her surroundings. _How did a stranger even enter?_ _How did he stay hidden? Unless... that person is on such a high level, so far above in skill me that—_ a guttural snarl— frustrated, she pivots, facing the coffee table beside her couch.

 _The best sort of trap is one you expect. In a month, I can find out what this..._ _I prescelti sette_ _malarkey is all about. And then I can cut and run if need be._

She glares at the innocent-looking envelope on her table, proof that the whole episode isn't a poorly-crafted daydream by her tired mind. She thinks. She reasons. She plots.

 _I_ _am_ _strong. But strength comes in many forms: in body, in mind, in will..._

 _I am_ _definitely_ _strong. But one of the strongest in the world?_

 _Hmm... Mafia Land recently ranked me as the most skilled freelance hitman— and wouldn't that just_ _hurt_ _all those closed-minded little men if they knew I was a woman,_ she thinks, a perfectly wicked smile flitting across her face.

It seems her mind is already made up.

"Strongest seven, huh? Strongest seven what, I wonder..."

 _I'll just have to find out._

* * *

I'm baaack! Thanks for your encouraging words, reviewers. I am, unfortunately, ridiculously busy with real life, so updates will be sporadic... Hope you enjoy nevertheless!

This chapter became (much) longer than I originally planned. Here, we hopped, skipped, and jumped through what I would say are several pivotal points in Reborn's pre-Arcobaleno life and got a better feel for what sort of person she is becoming. It also explores her relationship with Luce, and to a (much) lesser extent Timoteo and Shamal. Arc II, which (if the muses cooperate) should deal with the Arcobaleno and the birth of Reborn, begins in the next chapter.

Finally, I don't have a beta— so please feel free to point out any errors, typos, etc., so I can fix them. (Because I sure as hell won't catch a mistake by editing this while I'm half-asleep at two in the morning!)

One last note: chrysanthemum (crisantemo) are flowers that are given during sad events in Italy, particularly funerals. Considering 'Carcassa' literally means carcass, I thought I'd follow along with the theme.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sunshine and Subterfuge**

 **Arc II - Somewhere, Over the Rainbow**

* * *

 **01\. Familiar Faces**

Renato decides to go to the mysterious meeting organized by the checker-faced stranger.

Of course she does.

 _One of these days, indulging my curiosity is going to bite me in the ass._ She thinks with a wry half-smile as she ambles through an oceanfront city in Sicily, towards the restaurant that will host the first meeting of the so-called strongest seven. _I prescelti sette, i prescelti sette._ Those words have been circling in her thoughts since the invitation had been delivered.

It's a little before eleven in the morning. Though the air remains crisp, warm sunlight bathes the narrow, cobbled street. Renato closes her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath of air. The breeze carries a hint of the aroma of salt and fish. "Ah, well... If nothing else, this should be an interesting challenge."

 _If it's a trap, that's one thing. If that man was being honest? Working with a team of specialists would be a challenge of a different sort, as I've limited myself mostly to solo work._

Leon, perching on her shoulder, shifts in discomfort, and the dark green tail wrapped around the back of Renato's neck tightens its grip. _**I still say this is a bad idea.**_

"Perhaps. But I can't walk away. Not yet." _I need to learn more about that man, at the very least. Someone with such a facility with illusions is definitely a threat._

 _ **If you say so. You know, if I didn't know you better, I'd think the checker-faced one has meddled with your thoughts to form this little obsession.**_

"I say so."

 _ **Be careful, Partner. I'd rather not dodge bullets today.**_

Cocky smirk firmly in place, Renato turns down a side street, prowling towards a nondescript hole-in-the-wall eatery. Preliminary reconnaissance has shown the place is known for being something of a neutral ground for meetings— both for those connected to the underground and not. The shabby exterior is largely designed to deter tourists.

She nods to the burly man tending the bar, "Good morning. Private room, rented under the name _Dama_?"

"Through the red door." The man rumbles, nodding towards the back of the main room. "Bit down the hallway, third door on the right. Menu is provided, but you'll have to send someone out to order. You're the first one to arrive."

Tilting her head in acknowledgement, she murmurs her thanks, and heads towards the aforementioned door. She finds the meeting room easily, stepping inside without any hesitation.

 _ **A lovely room, if a bit empty.**_

"Hm," is Renato's noncommittal reply.

There is a long, oval table at the center, seven chairs interspersed evenly. Identical cream Manilla folders, each labeled 'ARCOBALENO' in large, blocky letters, are placed on the table, with one resting in front of every chair.

Behind the table is a small cart, a stack of menus on top. Further still, a piano and its matching stool are pushed against the back wall. She briefly flips through the topmost menu before placing it back onto the stack, and then approaches the piano, fingers lightly dancing over the keys— a light, tinkling few notes. _Nothing suspicious so far._

"Hm," she repeats, exploring a small decorative table also pushed against the rear wall. Its sole occupant is a radio, covered with a thin layer of dust. There is nothing in the small drawer below, and no wires besides the power cord leading to the radio. A more careful check, which necessitates briefly cracking open the casing of the little brown box, proves nothing suspicious inside. She flips the radio on and fiddles with the dial until a tango sashays through the room, the tune— playful and passionate— providing a little background noise. _Perfect._

She still has forty to fifty minutes to kill, metaphorically speaking, before the other six prospective team members should start to arrive. _**I'll help check the vents,**_ Leon offers, crawling down her right arm. She squats briefly to let the chameleon down, disguising it as a check under the table.

In the meantime, she continues scrutinizing every nook and cranny in the room, from the corners to the potted plants, looking for discreet monitoring devices and the like. She even flares her Flames, trying to distort any active illusions. There is nothing suspicious. There's not even a spider web.

It is fifteen minutes before she suspects the early birds should start to arrive when Renato finally retrieves Leon, picks an arbitrary chair, and takes a seat.

* * *

Another tango is on, though other music had played during the past hour: a piece with the melody carried by piano, this time. Renato sits, body language relaxed, hands folded in her lap, eyes half-lidded in pleasure, appearing generally unconcerned by the situation.

A very familiar figure enters the room, blue eyes brightening with joy when she notices the hitman. "Oh~! Renato, I'm glad you're here."

"Chaos. Always a pleasure to see you in person, Luce... But without your shadows?" Arching a brow, she flashes a mischievous grin, simultaneously teasing her friend and fishing for information, "I would have thought they wouldn't let you out of their sight, Lulu. It seems they're remiss in their duties... Should I spirit you away for a few days? Teach them a lesson?"

A soft smile, tainted with just a hint of embarrassment, "My... shadows, as you call them, are a little overprotective. I had a hard time convincing them to let me go to this meeting alone. No need for any mischief, really! And I should be safe enough here. At least— you'll watch out for me, right?"

"...Naturally. I could never leave a lady in distress."

They both know it's not strictly true; Renato is often enough the cause of said distress, but Luce laughs merrily nevertheless and takes a seat across from her friend, "Ren, I swear, you've gotten only more incorrigible as we age."

"Me? Incorrigible? I'm sure I don't know what you mean..." Then, expression turning more serious, she asks, "Are you going by your actual name or—?"

"Luce is fine; this face is pretty recognizable, you know?"

"Ah, a woman as beautiful as you is always recognizable." Renato wags her eyebrows theatrically.

"As memorable as Renato Sinclair is, hm?"

Renato tips her hat forward slightly in acknowledgement of the quip, chuckling, "Exactly so. On a completely different note, I don't suppose you know anything about this _i prescelti sette_ nonsense?"

"I just saw that I had to be here. Although, I was pretty certain you would be here, too."

"Pity." The smirk fades slightly with the realization her former student is dodging the question. "I suppose I'll just have to wait and see. I trust that you wouldn't come here if there's any immediate danger."

Almost immediately after Luce settles in her seat, in comes a tall man in dark trousers, a green collared shirt, and a long, white coat— a lab coat, to be precise. It takes a few seconds to recognize the aristocratic face. Dante Lorenzo, acclaimed scientist and inventor, often called the second coming of Leonardo Da Vinci. An aloof man obsessed with research, and purported to be interested in little else. His alias in the underground is Verde; understandable, given the bright green hair.

The scientist assesses the room with a quick glance, and then steps to the side, letting the door shut behind him with a click. "Donna Giglio Nero, a pleasure." A graceful bow to the lady, then a nod acknowledging Renato's presence "And... Renato Sinclair."

"Verde. A pleasure to meet you face to face."

 _A Lightning—the lingering scent of ozone hints at it. Makes sense; there are rumors he's bloodline Bovino, somebody's embarrassingly successful bastard..._

The next person through the door Renato recognizes immediately. A man with distinctly Asian features, dressed in red. They've encountered each other several times over the past six or seven years, and have even worked together before. Still, they are at best friendly acquaintances, and she isn't entirely certain of his true name; the usual alias will have to do. "Fon. Whoever called us here seems to be collecting specialists."

"Renato Sinclair." The storm bows, a serene smile on his face. "Wonderful to see you again."

"Likewise."

 _A Storm. The best in the business, even; things are becoming a little more intriguing._

 _Given the team members so far... 'Arcobaleno' would make sense as a team name if they're gathering each of the Flame types. A bit tacky, however._

A further two people enter as the clock strikes noon, their appointed meeting time— a heavily cloaked individual, face shaded by a deep hood, and a blue-haired woman, dressed in grey slacks and a white blouse, an old but well-cared for military jacket slung over her shoulders.

The first is blatantly a Mist—a hint of Flame lingers, disguising— _his? her?_ — their figure even more than the billowy folds of fabric that drift in an unnatural breeze that they exude. The person is difficult to focus on, but Renato recognizes the flavor of the Flames. The individual is a prodigal information specialist, placed two years below her at the Academy. They'd shared a few classes, but hadn't interacted face-to-face, and even then that person had been very androgynous...

"Viper," the figure declares in monotone in place of an introduction, and slides into the nearest empty seat. "Sinclair. Fon. I am unsurprised." They nod a greeting to Luce as well, "Giglio Nero," but ignore Verde entirely.

Renato smirks playfully, "From what I know, you are rarely surprised, Viper." _After all, your network is at least as extensive as mine._

"A compliment? That's unlike you, Sinclair."

"You can't believe everything you hear."

The Mist does not bother to respond.

In the meantime, the blue-haired woman sits down without a word, stiff-backed and alert.

 _A Military background, judging by her posture._ Renato analyzes. _Could be she followed a father or much older brother into the service; the jacket's too old to be hers. Probably a hand-me-down, but one she chooses to wear, considering the quality of the rest of her clothes. She was likely forced out of the military due to her gender. Pity for them; she looks capable._

 _Hmm... A Rain, maybe? She doesn't act particularly friendly, and they tend to be relatively sociable people. Perhaps a Cloud. No, the latter aren't suited to following orders. Could be part of the reason she's not military anymore. Went in because of family loyalty, but was too independent? Became a tactical consultant or maybe a hitman in the underworld to support herself?_

She'll just have to wait and see. And do some cursory snooping, of course. Renato could hardly trust a complete unknown at her back.

"Are you going to introduce yourself, Miss Blue?" This question, from a sweetly smiling Luce.

The woman in question quirks a brow, and mutters, "Blue will do."

 _Ha! At least she might have a sense of humor under the stony exterior._

As they wait for their last team member to arrive, Renato stays quiet, listening to the conversations that spring up with half an ear.

 _Arcobaleno, a team with each member having different Flame types... Is this is a gathering of potential guardians for a Sky? But the only Sky here is Luce, and she_ _has_ _guardians._

 _Curious._

The last of their number scrambles through the red door. It's a tense-looking teenager. Purple hair, purple eyes— _exceptionally strong Could Flames, perhaps? Color changes have been known to happen on Activation when the individual has an exceptionally high Flame purity and poor control—_ and an eccentric style: piercings, makeup, and dressed in a full leather outfit in purple and black.

"You're late." Renato deadpans, eyes narrowed in distaste, none too pleased to have her time wasted. "To make amends, you can fetch our drinks later... Lackey." By now she's reasonably convinced that Blue is ex-military, so the teenager is the only one present she has absolutely no intelligence on. Regardless, she already has a low opinion of the brat.

"Ah, don't be so hard on him, Ren. This place is hard to find for anyone that hasn't been in the city before."

"Hm." _That's no excuse not to do reconnaissance ahead of time._ Eyes half-lidded, Renato hums thoughtfully, but eventually concedes, "If you say so, Luce."

Renato glances back to the jittery-looking kid— _is he fidgeting? Seriously?_ — "Take a seat, Lackey."

 _At least the kid can follow directions. A lot of nervous energy. Maybe a Sun? I suppose they could have mistaken my Flame, but... Hm. Also doesn't seem easygoing enough to be a Rain. Then again, my Flame nature isn't matched to my temperament either. And it's not as if my eyes are a sunny yellow._

 _I suppose this could be an exercise in teamwork, after all... I wonder what that man needs a team of specialists_ _for_ _?_

"Well, then. Since our new lackey here has finally graced us with his presence, let's find out what this meeting is about."

* * *

 **02\. Competence**

The third mission they accept turns into a complete clusterfuck.

By this time, each member of Team Arcobaleno has had the opportunity to showcase some of their talents. As a result, they treat each other with, at the very least, grudging respect, though the youngest of their number is often ignored. There is no easy feeling of camaraderie—not yet— but a sense of beginnings, of connection, of being part of a greater whole... that is starting to form.

Renato falls into the role of mission leader, much as she dislikes trying to corral such an eclectic mix of personalities. There is a reason hitmen are usually loners; she doesn't really have the patience to deal with the Arcobaleno for long. Unfortunately, they have already agreed to cohabitate for the duration of their alliance, setting up in a manor provided by Luce. Renato usually steps back and lets their Sky lead at headquarters, lets her mediate their petty squabbles. Although Luce isn't their Sky, not truly.

This mission is the first time they've had to cooperate in an outright combat situation, though the Arcobaleno have some idea of each other's capabilities in a fight. Fon and Stuntman both favor hand-to-hand over any kind of weapons, although the latter is more of a brawler than anything else. Renato and Blue are mid-to-long range fighters, preferring firearms— the hitman her trusty handgun, and Blue a short-barreled shotgun. Viper depends almost wholly on Flames, though Renato faintly recalls the Mist was known to be quite good with bladed weapons in the Academy. Still, the Mist's chosen style forces them to be discreet, disabling and confusing the enemy from long-distance, as they're not certain that Stuntman and Blue know about Flames. Verde attacks with whatever madcap inventions he has on hand, though many of them depend on his Lightning Flames... 'Modified Tasers' is his excuse for the Flame-blind civilians.

Regardless; this mission is rapidly turning into a disaster. Someone has tipped off their target, and instead of a quiet infiltration to retrieve a handful of incriminating photographs of their client, they find themselves in a standoff. Five Arcobaleno facing over three dozen opponents. Even if the latter are less skilled, one of the louts could always get a lucky shot in.

Renato feels some measure of relief that Luce is elsewhere. She'd managed to convince the younger woman to stay back at headquarters with Verde as her backup-slash-babysitter— though in truth the scientist is probably hiding in the basement, neck-deep in some kind of experiment. Luce's pregnancy is the only reason Renato won that argument.

The standoff quickly devolves into a messy fight, with the five Arcobaleno present splitting into three teams. Viper fades into the background, assisting their team mates discreetly. Renato keeps a sharp eye on the stuntman; to her, facing the disorganized crowd that is their enemies is like shooting fish in a barrel. Similarly, Blue chooses to take potshots at anyone that tries to strike while Fon's back is turned.

Things are going well; their opponents are even less skilled than Renato expected, and this is more a slaughter than a proper fight. Soon, all but five of their enemies are incapacitated or dead. Most are dead, courtesy of a bullet to the brain. Renato aims and– there are three. Blue takes another shot— two. Finally, none, as the last two standing are faced with their red-clad martial artist.

Renato's sharp eyes catch a glint of metal from a nearby roof— _Sniper!_

She dives without weighing the decision, dragging Skull to the ground with her. The bullet misses its intended target— the stuntman's chest. The meaty sound of a metal projectile impacting human flesh— a bloody mist, tiny droplets of red peppering the cement— a sharp inhale. The hitman staggers to her feet with a pained grimace, snarling, "Roof. Sniper, at least one."

 _A shitty shot, too— I would have been able to compensate for the sudden movement._

Viper melts from the shadows, eyeing the wounded Sun warily and commenting "I'll take care of it," before disappearing from the others' senses once again.

 _Lucky the bullet missed_ _that_ _cluster of nerves..._ _Best heal it up enough to limit blood loss, and minimize the chances of losing range of motion. Extract the bullet later,_ she decides with a scar, at least, will not be from a stupid mistake. She glowers darkly at the purple-haired teenager, pressing a hand to her shoulder and focusing her Flames internally. It wouldn't do to inadvertently break omertà. "Next time, Lackey, don't get in the way."

 _He really doesn't belong in this world; what was that man_ _thinking_ _?_

"Bu-but I—?" The purple-haired nuisance seems at a loss for words, for once. Then, noticing the hitman has been wounded, he flails, attracting Fon and Blue's attention. "Oh! Are you okay?!"

 _Honestly. While I know it's mostly feigned, must he yell and whine at_ _that_ _volume?_

"Fine." Renato resists the urge to childishly roll her eyes, or shoot him. Rolling her shoulder carefully, she tests its current limits, assessing the damage. _Not ideal, but it will do for a temporary fix._ "Back to work," she proclaims, glare intensifying when the lackey tries to protest, "We still need to complete the mission."

Fon nods, though his eyes linger on Renato's bloody shoulder as he turns back towards the building that holds their goal. Blue frowns, expression hesitant. "You sure?"

"Hm. Viper 's likely already moving in from the top of the building; we'll be the distraction. Lackey and I will enter through the back. You two start at the front."

They don't meet much in the way of resistance inside, and the rest of the mission lacks any surprises, pleasant or otherwise.

* * *

Back at their headquarters, Renato seeks the privacy of her own room, after assuring the rest of the Arcobaleno she can handle her own wounds, and fending off a Luce that is determined to mother-hen her.

Closing the door behind her, she releases the mask of the invulnerable hitman with an inaudible sigh. _Finally, some peace!_ Placing her fedora on her desk, she eases out of the ruined jacket, eyeing the patch of blood and prominent bullet hole with disdain. Next, she unbuckles and slides off her shoulder holster, leaving both holster and gun on her desk for later maintenance.

Leaning down, she slides a homemade first aid kit from under the desk with a grumble, and carries it over to a loveseat a few paces away, placing it beside her. Finally, she strips off the collared shirt, undershirt, and even more reluctantly, her binder, leaving herself bare from the waist up. "I hate shoulder wounds."

 _ **Then maybe you should avoid being a large, obvious target. Or playing meat-shield for your teammates. Whichever it was...**_ Leon chastises from within the large glass structure that is his home— the monstrosity is a glass tank the size of a wardrobe, taking up one whole corner of the room. He pushes open a small, circular door, one of a dozen placed at different heights in the glass wall, and scampers out of the tank in order to inspect his human. _**Honestly, Ren. I take one afternoon off, and you get yourself shot?**_

"The latter." Renato takes a deep breath, preparing to extract the fragment of metal in her shoulder, "And yes, Leon, I simply can't survive without you. Best supervise me more carefully in the future." The room is silent as she works, the chameleon knowing she needs to concentrate. So he makes himself more comfortable, locating Renato's favorite hat and coiling his lithe green body within its brim. Renato just barely finishes extracting the bullet when the lackey barges into the room, door slamming shut behind him.

Unfortunately, the angle of her seat is such that Renato's true gender is impossible to disguise. Violet eyes widen in shock, "Holy shit, you're—"

Renato is halfway across the room, the gun she'd set aside immediately in her hand, barrel pointed at the intruder, "You are trespassing, Lackey." The door hadn't been locked; it rarely is, as nothing personal is stored in the room. Nevertheless, the private rooms belonging to each Arcobaleno are exactly that—private. Stuntman barging in without an invitation, without so much as a knock, is a breach of the agreements they'd made when the team was formed.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" Hands raised in a placating manner, the stuntman starts tripping over his words, "I know, but— Look, I won't say anything, and you can take it out of my hide later, okay? I just... You're difficult to get alone, and—" Suddenly remembering Renato is half-dressed and very obviously female, he flushes a vibrant shade of red, and covers his face, "Oh God, I'm going to die! I'm going to die! ...Oh, but first, I—"

"Waste of a good bullet," Renato mutters under her breath, setting the handgun aside, and resumes working on her wounded shoulder. She listens closely to the babbling Cloud nevertheless, even as she eventually rises from her seat to retrieve some appropriate attire. Skull is surprisingly earnest as he tries to simultaneously apologize for the intrusion—"I'm such an idiot, I didn't even think to knock! I'm so, so very sorry!"— and thank the hitman for pushing him out of the way of the sniper's shot, all the while explaining that, really, the action was entirely unnecessary. Renato lets him blather on for a few minutes after she's done redressing. "So, what I really want to say is, thanks, Sinclair. It wasn't necessary, but—"

"Whatever." She waves away the thanks with a tired sigh. "Don't fret over it, kid." They're teammates. He's her junior, both in age and experience, and thus her responsibility. She'd been watching his six. It would have been a lethal shot. She didn't, and still doesn't, want to see the stuntman dead, even if she does find his attitude incredibly exhausting. As for the rest? The boy is smart enough to keep his mouth shut, or he'll be taking a short walk off a tall cliff in the immediate future. Or a nice, cold swim with cement shoes.

Distracted, the stuntman puffs up like an offended cat, "I'm not a kid!"

"As long as you act like a bratty lackey, I'll treat you like one." Holding up a hand, she interrupts his blustering. "Stuntman." She doesn't go as far as revealing she knows his actual name; the show name he's yet to share with them will suffice. "Be quiet for a moment, Skull." _You're not immortal, whatever you claim._ "It's been a few months since we started working together. You  do realize what you've gotten involved in, joining this team?"

"Kind of. I'm not stupid. You, and Luce, and—probably everyone else except for Blue and the Doc, but maybe them, too? You're Mafia; I'm not stupid."

"Hm." _I didn't say you were._ "So?"

"So... So you took a bullet for me, Sinclair, even if I act like a menace. That means something, right? And Luce is— you guys are— I love stunt work, really, but only my fans would notice if I cut back on performances."

 _Shit_ _._

 _Forget Sky stuck, he's practically harmonized to Luce, even if she has a Cloud-natured guardian already. A secondary bond, maybe? She always was good at pulling people into her influence._ Renato thinks ruefully; she'd helped the younger woman refine that skill.

 _A kid without any other ties?_

 _Training, fighting, bleeding together..._

 _He never had a chance._

"Hm. Even if we are somewhere private, don't embarrass yourself too much, Lackey." She allows the purple-haired teen another minute or two for dramatics before she interrupts again.

Sending a silent prayer up to heaven for patience, Renato offers, "...I suppose I could give you some tips, if only to keep you from acquiring any unnecessary bullet wounds." The implication being: bullet wounds not inflicted by Renato Sinclair.

"Really?! Senpai! You're the greatest!" Stuntman crows gleefully and practically throws himself at Renato, trying to pull the hitman into a tight hug.

She dodges, smacking the stuntman on the back of the head.

Leon laughs a chameleon laugh from his place on Renato's fedora.

 _There was a time you would have shot him for invading your privacy and been done with it._

 _Goddamn it, Renato, when did you get so soft?_

* * *

 **03\. Favor**

Nine months into their alliance, the _i prescelti sette_ are a team, blooded and tested. There are bonds of friendship, and even a fragile trust, carefully nursed to life through Luce's efforts.

That is the only reason Renato doesn't dismiss her request outright.

"Please, Ren?" Blue eyes widened slightly for emphasis, Luce stares hopefully at her mentor, one of her closest, dearest friends.

Renato appears unmoved, even as her thoughts race, weighing the possible consequences against the benefits. _Hell_ _, but it would make things obvious. Can I even call it a secret if this many people know? Then again, Skull already knows, has known for months. Does it matter? Renato Sinclair is infamous enough that even if it got out, nobody would believe the rumors. And even if they do; I'm still the best... it would be troublesome at worst, but no true hindrance._

"Hm. You'll owe me one, Lu." Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the stuntman startle in surprise, but quickly cover it up in his usual fashion.

The Arcobaleno Sky nods, smiling serenely. "Deal!"

Everyone else at the table, barring Viper who looks as apathetic as ever, appears various degrees of confused. Naturally, the room doesn't stay quiet for long.

"I'm so confused!" A loud whine from the usual suspect. If Renato didn't know better, didn't recognize the mask, she really would believe he's an idiot.

Renato smirks in response, and explains. "Infiltration is one of my specialties."

Luce takes pity on the teen and elaborates, "We already agreed having three teams discreetly infiltrate the party would be best. Couples would be less suspicious. I have to be excluded, for obvious reasons." She gestures to the very obvious swell of her stomach; Luce is less than a month from the delivery date. "That leaves Blue, which means we need two people to cross-dress."

"And you think Sinclair can pull that off." Verde arches a brow, expression skeptical. "No offense, but... you're not exactly feminine."

 _Ha! And again: Ha!_

"You doubt my skill?" A dangerous glint in her coal-black eyes, Renato's lips gradually curl upwards, forming an absolutely wicked looking smirk. _Sounds like a challenge._ "Alright, then; I'll permit you to be my date for this party."

Verde chokes, glasses slipping down his nose.

The lackey leans back and practically howls with laughter— being the most obvious in his amusement. Luce giggles quietly into her hand, blue eyes glittering. When the laughter finally dies down, Viper nods to Renato and then looks to Luce, offering, "I suppose I can oblige as well. But you owe me a favor too."

"Perfect. Then the teams will be... Blue and Stuntman, Renato and Verde, Viper and Fon?"

* * *

Two days later, no one is laughing.

The hitman wears the face of a long-forgotten Renata when she steps into the conference room on the first floor, already occupied by the rest of the Arcobaleno. Her deceptively slight, slender frame is swathed in green silk, the fine cloth clinging to emphasize her feminine curves. The long skirt is loose enough that the holstered gun strapped to her leg goes unnoticed.

Complete and utter silence.

The wooden door closes behind her with a soft click. Inch-high black heels tap softly as she proceeds over the wooden floor to her seat at the table.

Renato's dark, curly hair has been grown to a more acceptable length through judicious use of Sun Flames, before being pinned into a stylish updo. Black eyes peek out from beneath long lashes, the slight slant emphasized with a thin line of black eyeliner.

She slides into her customary chair, lips decorated with just a touch of lipstick curl into a familiar, vicious smirk. Verde, Stuntman and Fon shudder as one. She hums thoughtfully, taking in their rapidly changing expressions— shocked, disturbed, then thoughtful— with undisguised glee, and decides to add fuel to the fire. Her voice is a smooth, melodic alto, just close enough to Renato's voice to give people chills. "I can still kill you just as easily in a dress and heels; don't think about taking any liberties." The words ruin what remains of the innocent image entirely.

"My eyes, my eyes! I'll never be able to remove this from my brain. Renato-senpai, don't kill me pleeease!" Stuntman wails, covering his face with his hands. He's definitely blushing, and more than a little traumatized at whatever thoughts are circling in his brain.

Verde shudders again, this time looking slightly nauseous. "I take it back, Renato. You are more than capable of masquerading as a woman."

"Hm. Oh, am I?" Renata acknowledges the scientist's loss with a slight tilt of her head. "Call this face Anna, if you would."

"Nice dress." Viper comments quietly from across the table.

"Thank you; I like yours as well. Blue suits your current appearance fantastically." The Mist is a svelte, grey-eyed, brown haired young woman, appearing to be somewhere in her early twenties. She's dressed in a lovely cerulean dress, cut to bare her shoulders and draw attention to the arch of her neck.

Arms folding in front of her chest, Renato smiles coyly at her teammates, "So. Does our plan require any last minute adjustments?"

* * *

 **04\. Fated Day**

Months and missions pass quickly. Soon, the strongest seven are offered their seventh assignment. After over a year of living and working together, their teamwork is seamless, and the task sounds more tedious than challenging: hunting for treasure in an isolated mountain range. Still, the pay is good, as usual. And, loathe as Renato is to admit it, the company is— she's grown fond of them. That does not stop her from sending a few 'playful' shots at Stuntman when he jokes about this mission being lucky number seven. Their youngest needs dodging practice anyway, right?

All seven of them go; Luce insists on it, as there's no reason for the trip to be overly dangerous. "Besides," their Sky reasons, "You might need an extra pair of hands, or an extra set of eyes to find this place."

They spend days trekking through the wilderness, searching for the mountain path marked on the map that had been provided. The map that was, very obviously, completely inaccurate. The fact that they are being followed only adds to Renato's sour mood. Blue waves it off, mentioning she knows the identity of their little stalker. "He's mostly harmless. I'll introduce you when we get back. That is, after I beat his ass for being so obvious when following us around."

Finally, nearly two weeks into their little misadventure, they find the mountain in question. It is a long and arduous climb; often there is no path at all, just near-vertical cliffs for them to scale. They reach the summit tired, but flush with the feeling of victory.

To their confusion, nothing of note is present there, beyond a strangely flat area on the ground, marked with what looks like a chalk outline the shape of a giant pacifier. After taking a thorough look around, they converge at the center of the area.

A blinding flash— white fills Renato's vision, and she feels a wave of pressure, pushing downwards. Before she can step back, fight—anything!— there is a surge of pain, centered in Renato's chest, like her heart is being crushed by an unrelenting fist. _What sort of trap is this?!_ The pain radiates outward, pulsing in synch with her heartbeat, until every inch of her is burning, pulsing, burning,  pain. From the corner of her eye, she sees someone, likely their stalker, push Blue aside, out of the circle of light and pulsing Flames. Then the agony is too overwhelming to think of anything but trying to stay vertical, to keep her knees from buckling.

 _I will_ _not_ _surrender and die like a dog— not like this!_ She can feel Sun Flames flaring around her in response to her resolve, a familiar yellow blaze, swallowed up or drowned out by the white fights to stay awake, wanting to face whatever mess they've blundered into head on, biting back a scream— the high pitch she'd hit would permanently end all speculation regarding actual gender— but in the end, the agony is too much, and she succumbs to unconsciousness, slumping as if boneless to the ground.

She is the last of the eight figures to do so.

* * *

 _Goddamn. Everything hurts._ The unrelenting pain she'd felt earlier seems to be fading faded, leaving behind a dull ache and an all-encompassing feeling of exhaustion. Renato forces herself to her feet regardless, through sheer force of will. She's the first of the newly-transformed Arcobaleno to wake.

It is only when the pain dulls enough for her to actually think that she notices the first discrepancy.

 _The ground is too close._ She wriggles her toes; everything seems intact, and the sensation of pain indicates this is unlikely to be a dream. _A Mist illusion to disorient me, maybe? No— what would be the point? I was unconscious._ Then she notices the next discrepancy.

Bleary-eyed, she stares down at the hands she'd used to push herself to her feet. The movement had been automatic, but... Her mind struggles to cope with what she sees. Tiny, chubby hands. Hands that would fumble with a standard pistol, let alone anything larger, such as a machine gun or sniper rifle.

A child's hands, quickly curling into fists to hide the tremor of fear.

Her hands.

For a few brief seconds, her mind is blank with terror.

Renato hasn't felt this helpless in many, many years. She hasn't felt this shattered since her mother's death, over a decade ago.

A closer inspection proves that rest of her has seemingly shrunk to match— clothes included, thankfully. A quick check of the weapons that make up her standard kit proves that every item she had on her person remains proportional. That eases at least a little of her worry.

Summoning her Flames to double-check her physical status, she nearly flinches when the unfamiliar weight around her neck, a yellow pacifier, flares with eldritch light the exact shade of her power. She ignores the foreign object for now, continuing with her assessment.

 _Interesting_.

Everything indicates she is healthy, if a little tired and sore.

 _A healthy toddler. Hell— three, maybe four, at best!_

She sighs, and directs her attention back to her surroundings— her instincts indicate there is no immediate danger.

 _And I am not the only one; we have all been altered._

The young man that had pushed Blue out of the way is still out cold, as is Blue herself. The quasi-military style of dress, similar to the clothing Blue herself chooses to wear... he is her friend, if not her partner.

Their martial artist is up and meditating, not far from where he fell— no doubt trying to regain his equilibrium. Renato is thankful; a raging Storm, especially one of Fon's caliber, is exceptionally dangerous.

Verde and Viper are arguing, loudly about the possible causes of their transformation. Their stuntman is, just as loudly, freaking out, chubby hands fisted in the spiky mess he calls hair. Nobody seems to be paying him any attention at the moment.

And Luce is— _just as tiny as the rest of us, and looks just as disoriented by the change._

"Ciaossu—" Renato drawls, intending to try and calm her compatriots, or at the very least distract them. Unfortunately, the sound of the childish voice she'd long ago left behind, complete with much-hated lisp that had plagued her early years, has her tempter slipping from its leash. "—fuck!" The litany of curses that comes forth in an eclectic mixture of English, Italian, Japanese, and even more esoteric languages, including what Viper recognizes as Quenya, has even Luce staring. Five minutes into her rant, Renato takes a deep breath, then a second one, and pushes her rage and frustration aside.

 _Now is not the time to indulge your temper._ She chastises herself for the loss of control, and then, with a touch more humor, thinks— _at least I've distracted them from this... whatever this is._ And it seems all eight of them are now upright and somewhat recovered.

"Damn, that was impressive-kora." The blonde toddler in military fatigues forces a grin. Blue wordlessly wallops him on the back of the head.

"I didn't even know senpai had an actual temper!" Stuntman murmurs in astonishment, "His emotional range seemed to only include annoyed, sadistic and amused as well as combinations like sadistically amused..."

"Hm. My apologies; I was a little... startled." Dark eyes regard her teammates, all similarly changed. Each with a pacifier hung around their necks, tinted the color of their Flames. All but Blue; her pacifier is empty of color, and somehow— wrong. Cloudy. "Obviously, we seem to have walked into a very bizarre trap." _This had better not be someone's sick idea of a joke._

She resists the urge to interrogate Luce immediately;— considering her long-standing suspicions that the younger woman has some manner of precognitive abilities, never mind her Sky intuition... _She'd been nervous, climbing up the mountain. Did she see or sense something? Why didn't she say anything?_

Now is not the time for that.

"Does anyone have a safe house near here? I'd prefer to try and find a solution to this somewhere more secure, considering."

* * *

They eventually retreat to one of Renato's less-used properties to regroup and lick their wounds, figuratively speaking.

They arrive at the isolated cottage after a long and eye-opening three days of travel from the area where the incident occurred. Adjusting to their new size is challenging. Those first few days, all of them are unbelievably clumsy, constantly overestimating their reach and tripping over their own feet. Even Fon, who'd had almost supernatural control of his body manages to embarrass himself once or twice. They adjust as the days pass, but the feeling of exhaustion lingers, waning slowly—hopefully a temporary side-effect due to the change forced on their bodies.

Still, while their new bodies seem to tire more quickly, they prove just as durable as their adult forms had been. Their physical strength and reflexes remain as before— only their general constitution seems to have weakened. The sheer humiliation when Renato realizes she now needs to take a nap in the middle of the day...

Over a week after they've been transformed, Renato engineers a distraction for her other teammates in order to corner Luce. She drags the Sky to a secluded area on the grounds, intent on grilling her for information.

"What do you know."

Luce hesitates a moment, teeth worrying her lower lip, before admitting, "... I knew something would happen. Something that would change me, and the rest of the _i prescelti sette_."

Renato's expression darkens with fury, diminutive body tense as a bowstring, hands fisted by her side, "You knew? You knew we would be humiliated, crippled—" _You knew, and you decided to say_ _nothing_ _?!_ At that moment, Renato's iron-clad will and the pair's longstanding friendship are all that stands between Luce and a bullet to the brain.

"Not exactly, no!" Luce shakes her head in denial, eyes glimmering with tears, "I didn't know we would be changed like this, Renato, I swear. It was just a nebulous feeling; it could have been a metaphorical change! And whatever would happen; it felt necessary!"

"Necessary." Renato echoes, forcing back the simmering rage enough that the can listen, so she can analyze the explanation later.

"I saw that whatever would happen to us was necessary for, for the stability of everything. I didn't try to look farther; seeing too much detail can change the likeliest could be, and it's rarely for the better." Luce sighs, and looks to the Sun Arcobaleno, blue eyes entreating, cheeks wet with tears. "Renato. Believe me, this was— it needed to happen. I'm sorry I didn't say anything but... Well, what could I say? What happens in the future, that's not up to me to decide."

 _Not your decision? Keeping quiet was your decision, Luce. You choose your own fate. Given your gifts this is true for you more than most. You're lying to yourself, Luce. Not only did you choose_ _your_ _fate, you chose the fate of the Arcobaleno as a whole._

A bitter smile. "Hm." _I wonder— would I feel more or less betrayed had I harmonized with her when we first met?_ "I see. I suppose you don't know of a way to reverse this, then?" The smile slips away, and Renato gazes at her longtime friend with eyes as dark as the void, and just as empty. "Excuse me, Donna Giglio Nero... I think I require a nap."

"Renato—"

"Don't worry. I won't mention anything to the others." _It's your secret; you decide who hears it._ She turns away, aiming to head back to the house and find a quiet corner to think. "Just don't let it fester too long."

"Ren. Please. I—"

"Lu." The miniaturized hitman replies without turning back around to face her, shoulders stiff, back ramrod straight. "It's— give me time," she rasps, voice heavy with conflicting emotions. _I trusted you, Luce. I_ _trusted_ _you. And maybe I can forgive you for the deception. But I can never forget that you are a person that is willing to sacrifice the team that fought and bled with you, your_ _friends_ _, for a nebulous vision of the future. That trust... it's like trying to fix a shattered mirror._ "Leave me alone for a few days."

* * *

It is a testament to how unsettled the Arcobaleno are that it takes weeks for anyone to notice that Luce and Renato are avoiding each other. The two can rarely be found in the same room. The eight diminutive adults have long since returned to the Arcobaleno headquarters, though all eight are constantly in and out of the building— trying to salvage something from the scattered pieces of their lives.

It's the stuntman that notices the tension between the Sun and Sky first, and he is the only one to comment.

Renato is haunting one of the underground levels; specifically, the shooting range. Contrary to what one would expect, the hitman is systematically disassembling, cleaning, tuning, and then reassembling the entire collection of firearms present in their hideaway. Her thoughts are obviously elsewhere.

"What did you do?" Skull demands imperiously.

"Hm?" Renato's distracted answer.

"Luce is avoiding you... Sinclair, what did you do?"

 _That's none of your business, Lackey._ "Nosy," she replies, but elaborates nevertheless; Renato gives her sometimes-student leeway, due to his age and lack of underworld connections. "We had a difference of opinion."

"You're best friends, Senpai. It must have been one hell of an argument. You should probably forgive her, whatever it is. We've all been high strung, since... you know."

"I don't need a therapist, Lackey."

"We all need therapy, Renato-senpai," the purple-haired toddler jokes. It falls flat. "Okay. On second thought, that's actually depressingly accurate. But if you didn't need someone to confide in, I doubt you'd be talking to the comic relief." He shrugs, flashing a self-deprecating smile, and adds, "You already know I can keep a secret."

 _I've already talked it out with Leon._ She thinks, but doesn't reply, turning back to her self-appointed task of firearms maintenance. _I just... need quiet._

Several weeks and an eternity later, Renato slides a cup of well-crafted, exquisitely dark espresso towards a sleep-addled Luce. It is only then the Arcobaleno Sky knows she is forgiven.

Renato Sinclair is twenty-eight when her life falls apart.

She is also three.

* * *

 **05\. Apprentice, (Re)birth**

The Sun Arcobaleno is still three and at the same time thirty when she finally acknowledges Renato Sinclair has to die. Of course, there are the usual difficulties with assuming a new identity, made more complicated by her apparent physical age, and only further compounded by the fact the Arcobaleno do not seem to be aging. And then there is Shamal, who she's raised for the past seven years.

The moody pre-teen is hardly enthused by Renato's need to cut ties.

"I'm not cutting myself out of your life permanently, Shamal. We can make contact publicly after you graduate," she assures him. That they could never afford to be seen together in public if he does not choose to stay in the underworld goes unsaid.

"That's not the point, Mom! It's just— it's unfair."

Carefully maintaining her neutral expression, Renato slowly arches a brow at the boy's inadvertent admission.

A tense silence.

Shamal twitches, looking as startled as a deer caught in a truck's headlights, expression slowly growing more mortified as the seconds tick by.

Taking pity on the teen, Renato reaches over to ruffle his brown hair. "It's fine, squirt." The nickname is especially hilarious considering her current appearance. "We're family. That is why I have to erase Renato's connections to... well, me." A sardonic smile, "It is much more difficult to go unnoticed in this body, and you cannot be tied to the World's Greatest Hitman." _You're important to me; I don't want my enemies to come after you._

"I can defend myself!" The young Mist bristles with indignation.

 **Click.** Quick as lightning, Leon, in the form of a green pistol, is in her hand. The barrel of said gun is aimed at the center of Shamal's forehead. "No whining."

"I remember, I remember!" At those words, the gun is replaced by the chameleon once more. Lips twisting into a grimace, shoulders slumping, Shamal tries to explain. "I just don't—"

Renato needs no explanation, so she interrupts, "Squirt." And then, a touch more serious, though her tone remains soft, "Shamal." _You're_ _mine_ _._ "We'll stay in contact. You know where a few of my dead drops are. You even know my personal phone number." _Both were meant for emergencies, but this is fine as well._ "You'll be busy at the Academy most of year anyway. And it's not like we'll never see each other again. And don't think I won't know if you let your grades slip," she warns, obsidian eyes gleaming with malice.

Paling, Shamal waves hands in front of his chest, placating, "N-no. I won't slack off! Geez... You're such a slave driver, Re—" He stumbles over the name, not knowing what to call her now, but recovers quickly, "Reborn."

A toothy smirk, "Reborn, hm? An apt enough name; I think I'll keep it." Her ward smiles at these words, an honest if tremulous thing, looking like the lost five year old she'd rescued instead of the nearly-eleven he actually is.

 _I know you can take care of yourself, squirt. You've never needed me hovering over your shoulder._

She returns flashes small smile of her own, proclaiming— "The Sun Arcobaleno Reborn, The World's Greatest Hitman."

 _My name will help you remember the truth, even as Renato dies to protect the people he cares about._

* * *

 **06\. Binding**

Reborn is three, and also forty-four.

The condition they now refer to as the Arcobaleno Curse, that she is trapped in this small, weakened form, complete with embarrassing lisp and squeaky voice... It long ago became a fact of life. She takes advantage of it when she can, and works around the limitations of her body when necessary.

It is necessary annoyingly often.

Sometimes she nearly laughs at the irony: her unchanging body in contrast to her partner's new gift for changing size and shape. Laughing is better than giving in to the rage that lingers beneath the surface, better than tears that long ago dried up. At least she and Leon share the apparent longevity. But forever young does not mean immortal— Luce is proof of that. She's gone. Gone forever without as much as a goodbye, her pacifier passed on to a sixteen year old Aria. Considering they literally cannot leave their pacifiers behind... Luce is dead.

Still, none of this is on Reborn's mind at the moment.

Sitting cross-legged in a sinfully comfortable leather chair, likely chosen to put visitors at ease to their own detriment, she stares at Teo across the expanse of his meticulously organized desk. The man staring back at her is a middle-aged Timoteo di Vongola— an accomplished leader, outwardly benevolent but known to be just as merciless as his contemporaries... and a largely absentee father to four sons.

 _Just when did you change from a fumbling boy-child into such a spider, Teo?_

 _Hell, when did you_ _age_ _so much?_

They've been friends for over three decades now. Timoteo knows many of her faces: Ren the person, Renato the aspiring hitman, and Reborn, World's Greatest Hitman and Sun Arcobaleno.

 _When did you become more Mafia Don than Teo?_ _More disquieting, did I miss this change in you or willfully ignore it? Does this curse have an insidious effect? Is my mind slowly creeping towards childhood, destined to eventually mirror my physical age?_

Eyes as black and emotionless as a void meet Timoteo's warmer honey-brown. "You want me to what." She states more than asks, lips turning downward in a mild scowl.

"I want you to be my son's godfather." The older-looking man repeats with an innocuous smile. "Xanxus needs a good role model, and I think you two would get along."

 _Failing coerce me to join your Varia, you would try to tie me to the Vongola a little more personally?_

 _I'm not sure if I should be impressed or insulted._

"...That's what I thought you said." Standing on the chair brings Reborn to just below eye level with the sitting Boss. She leans forward slightly, planting her hands flat on the surface of the desk with a thump. The pile of paperwork at the edge of the desk teeters dangerously for a few seconds, but ultimately fails to fall. "Have you taken complete leave of all of your senses, Timoteo?! I'm a hitman, not a nanny. Surely you have people lining up at the door for the opportunity."

"Come now, that's hardly an excuse; you and I both know you don't take hits on Vongola personnel." _That you know of._ She amends within the privacy of her own mind; outwardly, there's not as much as a , allied famiglia request a less benign agent in the Vongola disappear, quietly and discreetly. And Reborn  is a professional.

"And I would rather trust him to your care should something happen to me."

 _So_ _you're still an idiot, talking to_ _me_ _about trust— just a more manipulative one._

She shrugs, feigning relaxation as she settles back into a sitting position on the, for her, oversized leather chair. "Maybe so, but that's no reason to ask a contract killer to be godparent to a Vongola heir, fourth in line or not. Which reminds me; where did you even find him? Teo, anyone with eyes can tell—" _that the boy's not your blood directly_.

"Nonsense. Xanxus is a Sky. And in terms of appearance, he's practically the _Secondo_ reborn." Timoteo retorts, ever the unruffled Don.

 _Don't try to bullshit me, Timoteo._ "And his mother?"

"Has disappeared. She is of no consequence."

Reborn's face smooths into the expressionless mask she uses when she is more hitman than human being. _It's not really my place to chastise you, but as nobody else seems to be..._ "Family should not be only about politics, Timoteo." _I thought the Ottava taught you_ _that_ _much._

Don Vongola ignores her obvious disapproval, still smiling. "Ah. But isn't everything in this world of our about family politics to some degree?"

"We have known each other for a long time," Reborn scrutinizes her old friend, trying to puzzle out any other changes she might have overlooked. "You know what will happen if I do as you ask." _My allegiance will shift to Xanxus over you. A bond like_ _that_ _would supersede the one of friendship between us._

"Like I said; I trust you to watch over him."

 _Because you know of_ _that_ _particular weakness, even if you haven't used it against me before? And—_

 _you aren't willing to commit the time to raise the child yourself, are you? I suppose I could do this favor for you, if only to honor the person you were before being Don Vongola took precedence over being Timoteo._

"Very well," she nods her acceptance.

"You'll do it?" Timoteo seems pleased, if a little surprised at the easy victory, "I half expected a written contract and a list of demands."

"I will take responsibility for Xanxus di Vongola." _The rest, we can discuss after I meet with him._ Turning away, Reborn vaults over the arm of the chair to the floor, her landing silent enough to make a cat envious. "I'll go inform the boy myself. Have a nice evening, Vongola Nono."

Timoteo never will realize exactly when and why their relationship shifted from a close friendship to an alliance, with Renato's rare visits focusing on business only.

* * *

Reborn watches an irate nine year old pace around a sizeable bedroom. The boy is skinny as a stick, but healthy-looking otherwise. His most distinctive features, beyond the scrawny stature, are his wild bird's nest of dark hair and crimson eyes. And the Sky Flames, occasionally flaring a red-tinted orange around his hands: Flames of Wrath.

What exactly has the child so agitated is uncertain, until he begins to rant out loud, speech liberally peppered with curse words. _An independent street rat. Damn, Timoteo, you're not even_ _vaguely_ _respecting his boundaries, are you?_ It seems the boy's new guardian saw fit to replace his wardrobe, including his favorite jacket, disposing one of the child's few personal possessions.

She backtracks out of the small air vent she'd been using to spy, and then makes her way to the hallway that leads to the boy's private rooms.

 _The environment in the manor probably doesn't help. Being spoiled silly and then arbitrarily scolded for his behavior; no wonder the kid's acting out. And being an acknowledged bastard is nearly as bad as being a woman in the mafia._

 _...Renata, at least, had one dedicated and loving parent. Xanxus of the Vongola has the retired Ottava._

 _And now me._

The door to the child's bedroom is ajar, wide enough for Reborn to enter without touching anything. And yet... A soft knock on the door frame forces a pause in the boy's furious diatribe. "Ciaossu." The kid whirls around, and wine-red eyes level on Reborn's diminutive form, standing in the doorway. Reborn can sense the second she's dismissed as a nuisance.

"What y'want, trash?"

A small, dangerous-looking smile. "From life? Quite a few things. But that is not the question you should be asking right now." Leon, anticipating her intent, slips down into her hand fluidly, and— **Bang!** The nine year old newly-discovered Vongola flinches violently, a bullet hole suddenly present in the wall, placed less than a half a centimeter from his cheek. "Holy Fu—!" **Bang, Bang!** A second and third bullet hole appears, this time in the carpeted floor by the boy's feet.

"To start with, Xanxus di Vongola, I want your attention while I introduce myself. May I come in?"

"Whatever," is the distracted reply. The child watches her with guarded eyes, figure relaxed, despite the fact he's ready to bolt or attack. He seems a little surprised by the request.

A pause, as Reborn considers her new godson. "Good." She intones, stepping over the threshold into the room, "You already know it's easier to counter an attack if your body is relaxed and ready to move." The dark green gun disappears, replaced by a chameleon that skitters back up to her shoulder. "I am called Reborn."

Xanxus' eyes widen, and his shoulders curl inwards, his body language becoming distinctly more defensive, "Reborn?! Shit, that Reborn?"

 _Hm. Not even a few months living here and he's heard of the Arcobaleno? He has to have, if he's not asking about my height. Or are there connections with the underworld through his mother?_

 _He has potential either way._

"Aren't you supposed to be friends with the old man?"

The last question has her pushing those speculations about Xanxus away for later deliberation. "Hm. Something like that. It's of no matter. More importantly, as of now, I am your godfather." _More accurately, I suppose, your godmother. Regardless. That takes priority over my ties with the leader of Vongola._

Reborn savors Xanxus' completely poleaxed expression for a few seconds before continuing, "Accordingly, we should get to know each other. Have you learned to shoot a gun yet?"

He hasn't. Luckily, this is far from the first time Reborn is visiting Vongola Headquarters. She leads the scrappy little Vongola heir to one of the private firing ranges on the property. After walking him through the appropriate safety measures, Reborn drills Xanxus in the basics. They spend several hours together and, by the end of the session, Reborn manages to squeeze a few ounces of grudging respect from the youth, and vice versa.

"Not bad, for a beginner." She pronounces after declaring the lesson over. _Certainly better than Timoteo was at twice your age._ "If you are interested, I will be glad to continue teaching you. Although, if you slack off..." **Click.**

A snort. "Yeah, whatever, tra—" **Bang!** "...Sir." _Bright kid; he learns quickly._

Black eyes glint with sadistic humor as an eerie grin slowly unfurls. "Calling me Reborn is acceptable, considering," she offers casually.

"Reborn, then." The scrawny brat, hands fisted by his sides, grits out the concession from between his teeth as the pair amble slowly back towards the main Vongola Manor.

"What does your day to day schedule look like, Xanxus?" Reborn ignores the child's frustration entirely.

"Ugh. Whatever the old man's trashy minions want it to? D'pends on how pissed off they are."

"I would set aside at least a half hour a day for practice, for now. I'll make sure someone on staff will be available to go with you." _I'll threaten someone reasonably competent into agreeing if convincing is needed, that is._ Eyes glittering with humor, she adds, "If nothing else, it should be excellent stress relief after having to deal with morons like Sawada..." Reborn had met the boisterous young man, a member of CEDEF, and found his attitude grating on her nerves.

Xanxus cracks a smile, "Iemitsu? Yeah, he's friends with m'older brothers. Noisy as fuck."

"Mm. I would prefer to supervise you myself. Unfortunately, given the nature of my work, I am not always in Italy, let alone nearby. So— I'll provide you with my contact information." She retrieves a pen and completely blank business card from a pocket, and scribbles down a series of numbers, leaving it unlabeled. "Call if you like, but do not share this number with anyone else. I don't need Vongola minions clogging up my personal line."

A tired Xanxus looks a little dazed at that final barrage of words, retrieving the offered card and muttering a quiet "...kay."

* * *

As you all know, I don't have a beta, so do feel free to point out any typos. ;)

For those of you obsessive enough to try and follow the timeline— yes, I've adjusted several characters' ages a little for the sake of plot.

In this edition: a whirlwind tour of Renato's initial impressions of the Arcobaleno, a few snapshots showing how they grow closer, the Fated Day, and a little of the fallout. Is anyone else amused by Renato's sheer inability to stop being a tutor in all but name? She just can't help taking people under her wing.

This was originally going to include an introduction to Dino, but Xanxus demanded screen time. Speaking of the latter, did anyone else melt a little on the inside at the thought of a surly kid!Xanxus with a (secretly outrageously overprotective) Reborn as his uncle/father figure? I imagine Reborn would be a fantastic (if utterly terrifying) father figure. (Mother figure?) I'm kind of confused what rock the Godparent!Reborn idea crawled out from under, though... Oh well! It should make things interesting in the future, I guess? (Maybe I'll try to incorporate that idea into a Xanxus-centric retelling of KHR sometime.)

Oh, and for those of you that actually read that ridiculously long author's note: I'll write a oneshot gift (your choice of topic/idea/prompt) for the first person to guess why Renato's alter ego introduces herself as Anna.


	4. Chapter 4

**Arc III – If I Only Had A...**

* * *

 **07\. (In)tuition**

Xanxus has a terrifying amount of potential, perhaps even more so than the other children she's taken under her wing. He is no less brilliant than her previous students, but the young Vongola is decidedly less malleable—experiences in his early childhood firmly implanted an independent streak a mile wide in him. Like Skull. But unlike the Lackey, and indeed unlike all of the students Reborn has tutored in the past, Xanxus has street smarts and is entirely willing to discard conventional morality. The angry little dragon has the instincts of a survivor, but still possesses the open-minded nature and protectiveness found in the best Skies.

 _The only issue is his distrust of adults, of authority... I will have to adjust my approach. Or will I? Most people regard Arcobaleno like children on a subconscious level._ Reborn acknowledges that she cannot teach him the same way she did Luce, who both trusted and respected her for being an upperclassman, and there is certainly no need to tortu—err, motivate him like the Lackey.

 _Then again, should I really be overanalyzing my approach this much? I'm not one of his tutors officially, though doubtlessly that was Timoteo's intent. Xanxus is family now. And yet, unlike Shamal, I won't be his primary caregiver... Hm._

 _A delicate balance._

Because Xanxus will make a fantastic leader, assuming he learns to control his emotions and reign in his temper. No, he will be a fantastic leader, because Reborn will make certain of it, because she will accept no other future, come hell or high water. In some ways, her godson reminds Reborn of a wilder, less polished Daniela di Vongola.

The opportunity to advise him, to watch him grow, is almost enough to change her stance towards Timoteo.

Almost.

 _Finding age-mates that Xanxus can harmonize with will be an interesting challenge, as well._ She certainly can't leave it up to Xanxus— he's as touchy as an adolescent Storm and nearly as antisocial as a Cloud— and Timoteo has done an appalling job of introducing his three eldest to suitable individuals.

She hadn't had to do such a thing for Luce, and Shamal claims to be wholly uninterested in 'chaining himself to a Sky for the rest of his life.' Perhaps the boy idolized Renato Sinclair a bit too much. That hitman would have settled for nothing less than a full harmonization with a Sky she respected.

And what of Reborn? Reborn washed her hands of the matter entirely, more than a little cynical after being betrayed by Luce. If through some miracle it happens? Good. If not? Well, the odds have always been against her anyway.

Several weeks after their initial introduction, Reborn walks back into Xanxus' life with a casual, "Ciaossu." And this time, she definitely means chaos, and not a portmanteau of _Ciao_ and _Ossu_.

The boy startles, jerking back and narrowly avoiding toppling from his chair, having been reading a textbook at his desk, "Tra—Reborn. What does that even mean?"

 _Ah, so the lesson stuck. Good._

"It means exactly what it sounds like. Ciaossu." _If you want more information, find it yourself. Or learn to ask more direct questions._ "I am glad to find you studying; you've been neglecting your schoolwork in favor of combat training." _Things will go better for you if you don't._ The threat hangs in the air, unsaid, and there is just the slightest undercurrent of murderous intent emanating from the tiny hitman.

Xanxus scowls, expression mutinous, and turns to face the Arcobaleno, "The hell you even know that?"

 _Good. He's not trying to lie to me._ A beatific smile; Reborn is the picture of innocence. Leon, sensing his partner's mood, calmly saunters down Reborn's shoulder towards her hand. "It's because I can read minds." _It's certainly not the fact that I've hacked Vongola's security and bugged the library and classrooms. Perish the thought!_

Red eyes glare back, stubborn in their disbelief. "I call bullshit."

 _They you are more sensible than most._ Reborn shrugs, completely unruffled by being called out on the lie,"Whether you believe me or not is no matter." A comically large Leon-mallet is now gripped firmly in Reborn's right hand. "I assure you, I am not tolerant of laziness, Xanxus."

"Tch— like you've got any say. Fuck that! And like this shit will ever be useful anyway." He waves the biology textbook in his hands about, then moodily tosses it back on the desk. "I'd rather be learning just about anything else. Something useful."

 _I'm your godparent, of course I have a say. Timoteo is obviously going to continue failing at parenting._ _Someone_ _has to step up._ She doesn't verbalize those particular thoughts.

"You can't think of a single future use for animal or plant biology?" Reborn drawls, tone innocent, despite the fact she's raising the mallet ominously. "Really." _I didn't think you were that stupid. Shall I beat that out of you?_

 **Crash!** Xanxus dodges at the last moment, and the only casualty of Reborn's sudden attack is his chair, which breaks under the onslaught. "I know you're not that stupid, godson."

"Fuck! What—"

"The basics are important," is her nonchalant reply. "A Mafioso of your standing must be well-educated." **Crash!** And there goes an unquestionably expensive lamp as Xanxus frantically dodges to the side. _Good reflexes for his age. Understandable, if he's off the streets._

Leon discards the mallet form, returning to his usual green-lizardy self as Reborn smiles toothily, and simply— flows, appearing on Xanxus' shoulder, and slapping the back of his head none too gently. "Don't you want to be a Boss one day?"

"Ow! Fuck you, shitty godfather... Damn, but you're fast." The latter is said with a hint of admiration. Reborn delivers a second slap, this one for excessive use of foul language.

"You're interested in combat and weapons training? Your mind is your most invaluable weapon. What you think, what you say and how you say it are just as important as how easily you can kill someone."

 _Once you know how to play the game expertly, you can disregard the rules._

"Do you understand?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"You don't? That's fine. I will ensure the lessons... sink in." Sensing the threat, Xanxus jerks forward, trying to dislodge Reborn from his shoulder. Reborn obliges, leaping onto the boy's desk and examining the textbooks piled there. _Standard fare; nothing particularly difficult for a child his age, although I suppose his education_ _has_ _been inconsistent in the past._

"Tch! Whatever." Xanxus eyes Reborn with suspicion, brows furrowing. "What I want to know is— what are you lying about? Every time I think 'godfather' I feel you're lying about something."

Reborn smirks, turning away from the stack of books. "So you inherited the famed Vongola Intuition? Good. And you've already surpassed the current Don Vongola's aptitude for it."

"S'not an answer," is the preteen's surly reply. "And what intuition?"

She gives a concise lecture on Vongola Intuition, and Sky Intuition in general— most powerful Skies manifest intuition in some form or other, whether sensing truth from lies, being able to quickly deduce the most likely outcomes in a situation, or just a nebulous feeling when in danger.

"As for what you're sensing... Hm. It's a secret. I'll tell you if you get perfect score on your next biology test," Reborn offers magnanimously. _After all, it's hardly a secret among the people I consider family. I suppose it is a good enough way of testing your trustworthiness._ "If you don't, you'll have to pass a test that's a hundred times more difficult to hear the truth." _Or I'll just make you guess until you figure it out. Fun for me either way._

"My next biology test is tomorrow." The red-eyed child deadpans, expression incredulous. "That's why I was studying. You know, before you started destroying my room."

Reborn shrugs, "Well, if you really don't want to know..." She answers in a goading tone, egging Xanxus on.

"Fine, whatever. I'll pass the shitty test." Reaching around Reborn, he yanks his biology book off of the desk, flipping through it to find his place.

"A hundred percent score, and no less." Reborn offers her hand, and they shake on it. Whatever the outcome, Xanxus is going to be motivated to study. If need be, Reborn will continue to bribe and threaten him into compliance.

* * *

"...Teach me to use my Flames," an eleven year old Xanxus demands over breakfast. It is early fall, and the pair are enjoying the last of the good weather by eating outside.

"Why should I?" Reborn leisurely sips her espresso— nice and dark, with just a hint of hazelnut to add to the flavor. There is no reason for her to indulge her godson's request. On the other hand, there's no reason not to. _I suppose he's more than old enough, and mature enough not to abuse the privilege in front of civilians._

"Please."

Reborn arches a brow. _Politeness?_ That is certainly not this young Sky's strong point, despite her efforts. "You're asking nicely," is the offhand comment she gives in response. "But you've yet to tell me why you want to learn." _And why I should teach you._

Shoulders slumping, Xanxus admits, "I'd rather you teach me than one of my brothers. Or, God forbid, Sawada." That the patriarch of the family is too busy does not need to be said. _Though, I wonder why he does not ask his grandmother? While elderly, she is still... everything she was as acting Donna._

 _A fantastic Sky._

"Hm. Still not the why."

"Gunsmithing." Xanxus had received a perfect score several final exams last semester. Per their agreement, Reborn had arranged for an appropriate tutor on said topic. "I— I read about the Settimo's gun. I want to recreate it."

 _And in order to do so, you need better understanding and control of your own Flames._

"...Massimo and Iemitsu heard about my project."

 _And probably teased you about it, my little dragon, implying your Flames are weak._

Finishing her delightful coffee, Reborn sets the cup and saucer aside. "Hm." _Silly. Considering you first accessed your Flames well before you turned ten, they know full well you're a strong Sky. Jealous of a child over a decade their junior? Morons._ "I suppose I could; you've been excelling in your lessons. The usual rules apply." Those can be summarized in one sentence: if your grades start to slip, I stop teaching you extracurricular things and my trigger finger starts to slip.

She is rewarded by a mischievous grin; a treasure, considering how rare it is Xanxus' face shows anything beyond a derisive sneer or scowl. She is teaching him to mask his true feelings in public, after all.

"Do you know how to access Flames without a triggering emotion like fear or anger?"

Xanxus shakes his head mutely, smile slipping away, immediately replaced by an adorable scowl.

Adorable in Reborn's opinion, of course. Homicidal is the word some of the less seasoned members of housekeeping use.

"All the better, I don't have to encourage you to forget any bad habits..." As the lesson continues, Reborn finds herself drawn to those red-tinted Sky Flames; they resonate strongly with the helpless rage that has burrowed its way into her heart since Luce's betrayal. _Ah, but this is part of the danger of teaching a powerful, unattached Sky, isn't it, Ren?_

Alas, harmonizing would be tantamount to placing herself under Xanxus' command, something she cannot afford.

 _I may be tied to Xanxus of my own free will— a godmother, a mentor, and perhaps someday a friend— but I can never be one of his Guardians. We are simply too different to achieve the level of understanding necessary for true harmonization to occur._

Regretful but resolute, she tightens the mental grip on her Sun Flames, and continues on, as always.

* * *

A few months later, once Xanxus has some semblance of control over his Flames, Reborn spirits him away from Vongola Headquarters for a weekend, dragging him to the Academy. It's killing two birds with one stone, really.

"Ciaossu, Shamal. I have decided to visit," Reborn announces imperiously as she strides into the Academy clinic, keen eyes picking up the handful of Mist-made traps and other safeguards present in the room. Xanxus lingers beside her, dressed casually in black jeans and a long-sleeved dress shirt a rather understated shade of maroon. The preteen is glowering darkly, clearly unhappy to be there.

Shamal startles momentarily, spilling papers over his desk, then groans theatrically and covers his face. "What have I done to deserve this visit?"

"Twelve." Reborn replies cheerily, nimbly leaping onto said desk, black leather loafers landing squarely on top of said paperwork. It crinkles under her feet.

"Twelve... what?" Shamal half-heartedly attempts to retrieve said papers, and after failing to do so leans back in his chair, feigning confusion.

The diminutive hitman is not amused. "Twelve is the number of open contracts for your head, still attached to your body or not. And those are only the ones that pay well enough to be brought to my attention." She's aware of the rest of them, of course, but no one capable of injuring Shamal would take jobs for such a pittance.

The Mist finds himself promptly kicked in the head, sent flying from his chair. Reborn strolls over to where her adopted son landed, nudging him none-too gently with her foot. "Idiot. Keep your skirt chasing to a minimum until you finish your residency and fellowship." _Or you won't be able to balance clinic, dodging assassins, and freelancing._

"Who, me?" Shamal utterly fails at feigning innocence.

Reborn is wholly unamused. "Is that a request for remedial lessons, squirt?"

Both Xanxus and Shamal blanch at the thought of remedial lessons, and the hitman smirks internally at the conditioned response. Shamal rises to his feet, spewing half-formed explanations, but Reborn is actually uninterested in carrying out her threat at the moment. She glances back over her shoulder and gestures for Xanxus to come closer. "Xanxus, this idiot is Shamal. He is training to be a doctor, and currently acting as an assistant to one of the pediatricians on campus."

"Shamal, this is Xanxus di Vongola, my godson. His father is considering sending him to the Academy part-time starting next year."

"Ugh, a boy. Couldn't you tutor a cute girl instead, Reborn?"

Xanxus' eyes narrow in distaste. "Trash."

 _Oh_ _yes_ _,_ Reborn thinks with a sly grin, _this will be fun to watch._ She doesn't feel a whit of guilt for setting the two against each other; it's only temporary, after all. And she wants to see how Shamal deals with a strong, unattached Sky's influence... and how Xanxus deals with Mist illusions.

It's for their own good, really.

* * *

 **08\. (Dis)harmony**

Reborn is three, unchanging as always.

Her godson is fourteen when his world is turned upside down a second time.

"My Ma's dead." Xanxus says without any preamble when Reborn appears his quarters, having carefully jimmied a window open. The autumn sky is painted a deep burgundy behind her as the sun inches towards the horizon. The reason for the unusual entrance is clear: miscellaneous furniture is piled in front of the door that leads into the hall— a desk, a chair, a bookcase— a deterrent to anyone trying to enter the room through more conventional means.

Reborn doesn't bother to ask how her godson knows this fact; she's taught him well, after all. Why he wanted to know in the first place is easy enough to deduce.

The unruly teen is sprawled on a black leather couch, staring up at the ceiling, expression unreadable. There is blood on his knuckles, and considering how he's holding his right hand, likely a couple fractured bones. While the teen is otherwise uninjured, Reborn finds herself disturbed by how unnaturally still her godchild is.

She frowns, the concern in her eyes hidden by the shade cast by her fedora. Leon skitters up the back of her neck and circles the brim of her hat, watching intently. Xanxus continues rambling, not waiting for a response, his speech occasionally slipping into the coarser dialect he'd learned and used in his early childhood. "I figured she was, 'cause she was pretty out of it when she dropped me off here, but... Now I know for certain. And that utter fucker, the old man, he knew and didn't bother to tell me. She was my mother."

This listlessness isn't like her self-assured, willful Sky child.

Ambling to the couch, Reborn silently vaults herself upwards, landing on the armrest and settling down beside Xanxus' head. What is there to say in such a situation? Reborn is not one for false platitudes, and never has been. What could she say? That her mother passed away when she was about the same age? That she cut her father out of her life shortly after? That she drowned herself in school and work and all but lost her sense of self, using a mask to hide her grief from the world?

Reborn chooses to stay silent. Reaching down, she squeezes the young Vongola's shoulder gently, a gesture meant to be both consoling and supportive. Leon peers over the brim of the hat and flicks his tongue in Xanxus' direction, the little chameleon's own version of offering support.

"I don't know what to feel," Xanxus admits quietly. "Sad. Angry... or maybe just relived. She'd— she wasn't well. Even then, I should have had the chance to say goodbye." Lassitude shifts rapidly into anger, and Xanxus is up and pacing the floor like a caged beast, eyes flashing an eerie crimson as he rages.

"Don't they think even I deserve that small courtesy?" Out comes the rot that has wriggled itself into the boy's psyche over the years, reinforced again and again by the conflicting standards imposed on him and constant disapproval from those that should be family. "Am I a whoreson and a bastard, worth nothing to anyone?! Or am I the youngest of Don Vongola's sons, to be fawned over and babied? Always the fucking double standards!"

 _You are Xanxus, and that is all that matters._

Reborn listens, outwardly dispassionate, letting him vent without judgement; a cold fury courses through her veins. Because Xanxus is hers, just like Shamal is, just like the Arcobaleno are, and Reborn protects what is hers. She decides to make a few discreet visits to the loudest of Xanxus' detractors.

"Shit!" Bright flames, a swirling mixture of red and orange, flare around Xanxus' hand. He punches the solid, Flame-resistant wall in front of him. Reborn can hear the bones in the teen's hand grind against each other. _Yes. That will definitely need healing._ He leaves behind an impressive dent, and resumes pacing the room, fuming, continuing his rant.

"Five years of lies from that trash! Five! I didn't even get to say goodbye to her... And that old fuck didn't— he's such a liar. I'm adopted, Reborn. He all but admitted it. I knew there was something shifty about that son of a bitch." Xanxus spits out vehemently, retreating back to his couch and throwing himself onto it with abandon. "So I'm not even his son. Not even a Vongola, for all that I seem to have their infamous intuition." The 'who am I, really?' goes unsaid, but she can read it easily in his body language, see it on the planes of his face.

"You are Xanxus," she replies, though she knows what her godson is really asking _— Ddd he take me in out of pity? Because of my Sky Flames? Am I just another tool to him, to wield in the defense of Vongola and discard after I crack?_ There isn't a reference book she can search or database to hack to find the answer. Reborn offers the cold truth instead. "I don't know what Don Vongola's true intentions were. I doubt even he knows."

Xanxus stretches out on the couch, folding his arms behind his head, wincing slightly at the motion. A barked laugh, harsh and bitter, "Ha! And here I thought you knew everything." There are no tears; Xanxus learned the futility of crying years ago. Better to rage and try to channel it into something productive. "...What do I do now?"

A flicker of warmth in Reborn's cold heart; Xanxus trusts her enough to show this level of vulnerability, to seek her advice.

"Hm. Does anything need to change? Xanxus is still my godson—" _My little dragon._ "You're still Daniela's beloved grandson. Even if you're not as connected to the main line Vongola as directly as Nono claims, you're still bloodline. All anyone needs to do to see it is take a look at the portrait of the Vongola Secondo."

"And what if I don't want to be here?" Xanxus mutters quietly, face washed clean of expressions, unsettlingly blank. "What if I don't want to be a Vongola?"

Head tilting slightly to the side, she asks, "Where would you rather be? Who do you want to be? What do you want from life... that decision is yours." _I am_ _your_ _ally, not Timoteo's. If you truly want to cut and run, I will help you disappear._ "Weigh the options, and then tell me."

Xanxus snorts, one part self-disgust and one part at the sentimentality, but doesn't argue. "How is it you're more of a parent than that—" He bites back the expletives, replacing them with a low, guttural growl.

Reborn looks back at him like he's a complete moron. Ignoring his question for the moment, she holds a hand out, palm up, demanding, "Your hand." Xanxus stares for a moment, and then finally complies with a wordless grumble.

Holding the wounded limb still in her lap Reborn summons sparks of bright yellow Flames to her fingertips. While evaluating and then repairing Xanxus' self-inflicted injuries, she explains. "I have children." _You. Shamal._ "Blood ties don't always mean family, and family does not require blood ties."

 _Don't you know this already?_

Once the damage has been healed, she nods decisively, releasing Xanxus' hand from her grip, and rises to her feet. "I'll leave you to your thoughts."

Xanxus forces himself back into a sitting position, flexing his hand, expression thoughtful. "...Stay." It's a command more than a request, but Reborn doesn't have it within her to say no to her child. Not now. Not in this situation.

"Hm. Just this once." She concedes, hopping up to the back of the couch and strolling over to Xanxus, leaning down to pet his surprisingly silky black hair, careful to not disturb the feathers braided in. _Always_ _. You need only ask,_ she thinks, a fierce flame burning in her heart. And then, something in Reborn shifts, like a puzzle piece falling into place, or an image that had always been imperceptibly fuzzy sharpening into focus.

Her hand stills, fingers still tangled in Xanxus' hair. "Oh," she breathes. The first thought that comes to mind is: _so_ _this_ _is what harmonization feels like._

"That—" Xanxus leans forward, twisting around to face Reborn— crimson eyes meeting the immutable darkness of the void. "What was that?"

Reborn is obviously unsettled, a hint of wonder leaking into her voice. "That's... Harmonization." Thankfully, she doesn't have to introduce Xanxus to the concept; her godson is already aware of what harmonization is— and to a lesser extent what it means. "It is extraordinarily rare for a Sky and their bonded to have a significant age gap." She comments, almost idly.

There is warmth at the center of her chest, pulsing softly in synchronicity with the beats of her heart; it feels like home— the sound of her mother's laughter, the taste of chocolate cake and espresso, the warmth of an August sun in late afternoon _._ Reborn reaches up to touch the spot. _So this is what a harmonized bond feels like._

Reborn hasn't been caught this off guard in decades.

She should be angry. She should be absolutely furious with herself. _You do not need this complication_ , the more logical part of her argues.

 _And yet..._

 _And yet, this feeling._

She shimmies down the back of the couch to sit beside Xanxus, joining him in a relatively contented— or perhaps, stunned— silence. There will be time to discuss the implications later.

For now, Reborn basks in the impossibility of belonging.

* * *

 **09\. Unique Varia(bles) in Rainbow Colors**

For Reborn, harmonizing with Xanxus changes nothing, and changes everything.

She is still three. She retains the title of World's Greatest Hitman; her so-called competition is pitiful. She still drifts in and out of Xanxus' life— much like a Cloud would— and accepts whatever contracts interest her. Though now she demonstrates a preference for shorter assignments, particularly those based in Italy and nearby countries. Much to her relief, despite typical Sky-Element relationship dynamics, she keeps her role as mentor to Xanxus.

There is only one very obvious change in her behavior. Obvious to her, if not to others. Reborn spends far too much of her time monitoring the goings-on at Vongola Headquarters.

Recalling the shoddy quality of Timoteo's security while they were in the Academy together encouraged her to layer the entirety of Vongola HQ, and the rather vast estate surrounding it, with enough surveillance equipment— bugs that are electronic and otherwise— to keep a close eye on any problems that might endanger her Sky. The fact that she can do so without being caught does not improve her opinion of CEDEF, despite their recent recruitment of Blue— _Lal Mirch nowadays, due to CEDEF's naming conventions_ — or that of Vongola Housekeeping, who are both servants and security.

Reborn admits, if only in the privacy of her own thoughts, that being Xanxus' only Guardian seems to be amplifying her innate paranoia to new heights. Whether her rather rabid overprotectiveness will persist even after Xanxus harmonizes with others is uncertain. Naturally, the best course of action is to test the theory; the earlier she does this, the better for everyone involved.

"Xanxus."

The young man in question barely twitches, engrossed in his work— meticulously transcribing plans for a Flame-powered gun, carefully penned on a massive sheet of paper pinned to his workroom wall. It's his sixth attempt. _From what little I've learned about Flame-tech from Verde, or rather from hacking his files, this one might actually work instead of exploding outright,_ Reborn muses. _If it does, I may ask if I can adapt his design for my use._

 _Regardless; my dear Sky needs to stop locking himself in his quarters, and I have just the diversion mind._ "We're taking a trip to the Academy." Reborn announces, hand reaching for Leon— a mallet-Leon would just perfectly demonstrate her opinion of Xanxus' inattentiveness. Single-minded focus in the wrong situation will get him killed. Fortunately, her godson senses the danger.

"...visiting your shitty Doctor again?" Xanxus turns away from his work, expression resigned; he knows full well that once Reborn has decided something, she is near impossible to divert.

The innocuous smile, coupled with playful glint in Reborn's eyes has her godson instantly wary. "No, that's not it at all... Actually, Shamal got chased out a while ago." _For harassing the nurses and older female students, the letch._

Xanxus snorts, disgust bleeding into his tone, "Of course he did." He mutters something barely audible about perverted trash under his breath.

Reborn ignores Xanxus' comments entirely, explaining, "You need new training dummies to practice on. People closer to your age with different skillsets."

"When?" The young man asks, stifling a yawn, stretching to combat the stiffness in his back and shoulders from sitting too long.

Reborn can't help but find his workaholic tendencies endearing. It's a little like looking at a young Renato. Still, sleep is necessary for both mental and physical health. "Tomorrow. Go to bed."

"Eh?" Xanxus blinks at the demand, setting down the pencil gripped in his hand. He makes an adorable image, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie skewed to the side, a smudge of charcoal on his left cheek.

"You lost track of time again." _It's past midnight._ "Go to bed," she reiterates, eyes narrowing with unspoken threat— _or else._

"I'll clean up first." Xanxus bargains, having long ago learned that his Sun responds better to logic than arguing or whining for 'five more minutes' of time. Besides, it's already later than he usually goes to bed.

"Hm." Reborn hums her agreement, and motions for him to hurry up. An exhausted Xanxus cocoons himself in blankets less than fifteen minutes later.

* * *

Squalo Superbi will believe he met Xanxus by chance, the whim of fate. Silly boy; there are no such things when the World's Greatest Hitman is involved.

While the Academy remain unaware of Reborn's original identity— they aren't even aware of her connection to Renato Sinclair— it is a well-known fact the hitman is an alumnus. Thus, it is laughably easy for her to arrange for a small round-robin tournament among the top students currently attending the infamous school... How interesting that none of the thirteen students selected are a Sun or Sky. And that the fourteenth competitor is Xanxus.

She watches her godson rip through the competition with satisfaction. It's no real surprise; the strength of her Sky's conviction is mirrored by the strength of his Flames. _It really_ _is_ _good for him to practice against others his age. And if nothing else, it gives me a better idea about potential Guardians available._

The only one that poses a challenge to her Sky is a silver-haired swordsman a few years his senior. Squalo Superbi, one of the finest minds currently attending the Academy, is an artist with a blade. As Xanxus prefers long-distance fighting and Squalo is fast enough to dodge his bullets, Xanxus has to adapt his strategy. The fight would have ended in a stalemate, were Xanxus not also excellent at hand-to-hand, and capable of maneuvering around Squalo's sword.

Reborn smirks at the Rain's expression after he's been revived; the older boy is definitely impressed by her godson. Only part of it is the Sky's ability to wield the Flames of Wrath that left him with several nasty-looking burns.

Xanxus and Squalo become fast friends, though it is not evident to someone that only sees the two interact in public. Though Squalo does his best to become the young Vongola's shadow whenever both boys have free time. Reborn knows they will harmonize long before the most rudimentary bond forms. Squalo will make a good right hand for Xanxus.

The year following his early graduation, Squalo seeks out his dreams. He systematically locates and challenges a hundred of the most skilled wielders of the sword around the world. He slaughters them to the last man. His last and most powerful opponent is a one-handed man named Tyr, the current Sword Emperor and leader of Vongola's Independent Assassination Squad, the Varia. Squalo, fiercely determined to win said title, even cuts off his own hand to better understand the older swordsman's techniques! Xanxus had not been happy to hear of his Rain's foray into self-mutilation.

Still, after a grueling battle that lasted over forty-eight hours, Squalo becomes the new Sword Emperor. Seventeen year old Squalo also inadvertently finds himself in charge of an organization filled to the brim with lunatics due to some convoluted rule about how the Varia chooses its leaders. He promptly recruits a fifteen year old Xanxus as his replacement.

Upon hearing the news, Reborn is torn between laughter— Xanxus will loathe the paperwork and many of his new subordinates will likely drive him up the wall— and screaming in frustration, given her longstanding refusal to join the Varia.

 _Goddamn it. If I believed in fate, I would think she is laughing at me._

* * *

Reborn watches, eagle-eyed, as Xanxus gathers Guardians over the next several years. They become Varia Officers, Xanxus' most trusted agents, and by the time Xanxus is seventeen, they are only lacking a Cloud, but that lot are notoriously finicky.

The first future Officer to be recruited to the Varia is Lussuria, one of Squalo's friends from the Academy.

Lussuria is a Sun.

Her— yes, her, because despite the body she was born with, or the Varia's stance on recruiting women, Lussuria is a woman— Sun Flames are the most powerful in the Varia, and she rapidly rises through the ranks after being recruited by Squalo. Despite her obvious Quality, and despite the fact that she gets on with the Boss remarkably well, she finds it impossible to harmonize with Xanxus, much to her frustration.

It is only after she earns her promotion to Officer of the Sun Division, after killing the previous Sun Officer, a useless stooge if she ever saw one, that she finally learns why.

The door to the officer's meeting room swings open. Behind it stands a young assassin— body lithe and limber, sharp eyes hidden behind wrap-around sunglasses, hair styled in a colorful mohawk.

"VOI! Get your ass in here," the silver-haired shark bellows. He's seated just to the right of Xanxus' throne-like chair, and the oval table in front of both young men is literally covered with a mountain of paperwork.

Xanxus doesn't stand on ceremony; not when he doesn't have to. Accordingly, his first words to the new officer are brusque. "Oi, trash. Introduce yourself and take a fucking seat."

Reborn, standing on the left arm of Xanxus' throne, glowers at the interloper silently. She can practically feel the young Sun's flames reaching for her Sky. Small hands twitch towards one of the guns hidden on her person, but she restrains herself. Leon laughs at her thinly-veiled annoyance.

"Boss-darling! I am Lussuria, Vittorio's replacement." Lussuria twitters cheerily and chooses the chair beside Squalo's, flashing the Rain a smile. It's only the four of them in this room— Xanxus, Squalo, Lussuria, and Reborn— the rest of the Varia officers are leftovers from Tyr's reign and thus have divided loyalties. Squalo, and to a lesser extent Xanxus have been recruiting possible replacements, but proving yourself Varia Quality, let alone quality enough to be an officer, takes time.

The frustrated teenager that is the focal point of the room jerks his head in the direction of his Rain guardian, sitting beside him. "You already know Squalo." Then, Xanxus gestures to the small figure on his other side. "My godfather." Who requires no further introduction. Although considering the venomous glare the Sun Officer is currently receiving, Xanxus briefly considers elaborating. He waves the thought off— if Lussuria is Quality, she'll figure it out. Or she'll die.

Reborn stares at the intruding Sun with cold, bottomless eyes. "Hm. She'll do as a stand-in, for now." Lussuria quickly processes the implicit threat— the killing intent that spikes any time her Flames try to interweave with that of her Boss make the situation rather obvious.

 _Stop attempting to harmonize with_ _my_ _Sky or you will stop breathing._

To her credit, Lussuria stops her attempts immediately, even if it takes her a few days' worth of observing Xanxus and Reborn interact to figure out why the pint-sized hitman is so disapproving of her presence and attempts at harmonization.

Despite the vague sense of fondness Reborn eventually develops for the younger Sun, she is far too possessive to allow anything but the weakest of bonds to form between Xanxus and his secondary Sun.

* * *

Next comes Levi-A-Than, another ambitious Varia member that claws his way to the top of the food chain. Levi is a lunatic. Certifiably insane, and completely obsessed with Reborn's godson. Granted, Lightning Elements are rarely the paragons of sanity, Mafia-raised ones especially, but Levi is in a class of crazy all his own. The less said about how the Levi initially met her godson— an unfortunate incident involving an assassination attempt and a piping-hot cup of jasmine tea dumped in someone's lap— the better.

Reborn tolerates him, and will continue to do so as long as the Lightning is both fiercely loyal and useful.

* * *

Things slow down after the first few months, once Xanxus has a chance to reorganize the Varia to his liking and cull some of the more obvious spies and the more blatantly incompetent members. Reborn is exceptionally thankful that her paranoia is at least somewhat alleviated with the addition of a further two guardians; she can trust the others to watch Xanxus' back... Well. Squalo, at least. Levi she trusts to be an adequate meat shield.

With that in mind, she can venture out farther and for longer periods of time without obsessively monitoring the goings-on in Varia Headquarters, her Sky's current place of residence.

Reborn is enjoying a well-earned break in a small, hidden nook above and a little to the right of the training rooms in the third basement level of the Varia HQ. Naturally, this involves coffee, hot and bitter— _glorious!_ —sliding over her tongue and down the back of her throat. It may also involve a copy of Silence of the Lambs, which she is re-reading. That is, until she is rudely interrupted by the yellow glow from the accursed pacifier around her neck. The intensity of the glow is slowly increasing, indicating her fellow Arcobaleno, whoever it may be, is nearing her location.

 _I wonder who?_ A frustrated sigh. _Likely Skull, considering I didn't receive a message ahead of time._ "I suppose he  did seem interested in meeting my godson the last time we spoke..." She quickly finishes her coffee, and weighs her options. She could go seek out her visitor, or wait and see if they discovered the Arcobaleno-sized tunnels constructed throughout the building. Eventually, she decides on the latter, starts a fresh pot of coffee and microwaves a small platter of bite-sized chocolate-filled croissants.

To Reborn's surprise, it's not only Skull that barges in the room a little under fifteen minutes later. "Ciaossu." She flashes a somewhat welcoming smile at her two visitors, "Pastry?" She offers, gesturing towards the plate. Because she is certainly not going to provide Skull with caffeine. Just... no.

"Hi Reborn-senpai! The amazing Skull-sama and Viper have come to visit!" Skull, dressed in his usual skintight purple-accented leather outfit but sans helmet, is practically vibrating in place. The youngest Arcobaleno scurries over to the table and quickly appropriates a croissant.

"Lackey." Reborn sighs internally. _Maybe offering him sugar wasn't the best idea either._

"Reborn." Viper offers a polite nod in greeting, but does not seem inclined to stay and chat.

"Viper. An unexpected surprise." Reborn rather suspects the Mist is rolling their eyes under the hood.

"I wanted to meet your godson—Xanxus of the Vongola, right? And Viper agreed to help me get in the building and find you, and I figured they'd want to meet Xanxus too, and you would make the place scary-secure, and your tunnels are really, really cool, I—" Skull fires off rapidly, finishing the first croissant and reaching for a second one.

 **Wham!** Reborn chooses to avoid the risk of a sugar-high Skull by applying an appropriate deterrent. With a Leon-mallet to Skull's head. "Don't talk so quickly that others don't have a chance to interject, Lackey. It's annoying."

Viper's lips quirk upwards for a fraction of a second. "Skull. I'll send you the bill." They quote an obnoxiously large sum, and then start to turn away, intending to investigate the Varia Mist Division.

Skull interrupts his obligatory melodramatic wailing about Reborn-senpai being a meanie to interject, "Wait, wait! Don't you want to meet Reborn's kid?" Suddenly appearing uninjured, Skull leaps back to his feet and flails. "Come on! You wanna see him too, right?!"

Reborn stifles a snort; Xanxus' expression at hearing that little epithet would be absolutely hilarious.

Viper pauses in the doorway, though whether it's at the mental image of Reborn as a maternal figure or in anticipation of the comical scene about to unfold is uncertain.

"I will continue charging you for my time, by the hour." They decree imperiously, slinking closer to the other two Arcobaleno, close enough to snag an empty mug and retrieve some coffee. Despite their apathetic expression, they are clearly radiating amusement at the violence Reborn is currently attempting to inflict on Skull.

"Word choice, Lackey!" **Crash!** This time, Skull dodges the Leon-hammer, flailing his arms comically and wailing. "Hourly fees?! But Viiiper!"

 _Ignore me, will you?_ Reborn thinks with a smirk. **Crash!** Another near-miss. Reborn's eyes flicker with vicious glee. "Training your body is good, but you're clearly neglecting your mind!" All three Arcobaleno know that Reborn's attacks are intended to be dodging practice more than an actual assault, and that Skull's histrionics are entirely feigned.

It's still fun.

Things eventually devolve to the point that Reborn chases Skull down a hallway, herding him by shooting live rounds. A door slams open with a bang, and a very irritated Superbi Squalo makes a grab for Skull, who dances out of the way nimbly, and sticks his tongue out at the swordsman, blowing a loud raspberry in response.

"VOOOOI! What the fuck?! Some of us have to work!"

None of the Arcobaleno bother to answer. Reborn and Viper simply do not care, and Skull is too busy dodging bullets from the former.

Squalo stares at Reborn, then at Viper, and then at the rapidly fleeing Skull, and, muttering something derogatory about 'fucking insane toddlers' retreats back into his office, slamming the door behind him. Reborn idly wonders about the state of the hinges on that particular door as she passes it. She'll get revenge for the toddler comment later.

* * *

Viper is curious. They have eyes, ears, and more than lint between said ears, unlike some people that shall go unnamed. The signs are obvious to someone as familiar with Reborn and her mannerisms as Viper is. Despite the monumental odds against her, against all of the Arcobaleno, their Sun has bonded with a Sky.

So Viper chooses to linger in the building that houses the Varia Headquarters, chooses not to smother the spark of hope flickering to life in their cold heart. Perhaps they will see if the Varia can afford their fees.

Skull, on the other hand, doesn't have the temperament to join the Varia. The diminutive Cloud is Quality, though he doesn't act it most of the time. He simply lacks that indefinable something needed to make a proper career out of murder. Perhaps he's just not enough of a sociopath. The atypical Cloud is in the Mafia because of the bastard that manipulated them into becoming Arcobaleno, and to a lesser extent because of Luce.

Once his curiosity is sated, Skull leaves, having agreed to occasionally act as a consultant for the Varia and signing a contract to provide driving lessons to their younger in-training operatives each summer.

Viper stays. Days become weeks... and a month and a half later, Mammon the Esper, the Varia's most powerful and avaricious Mist, is born.

Reborn is quite smug at that result.

* * *

Xanxus finds the precocious Storm that would be his— theirs, really, as in private Xanxus and his Guardians are very tight-knit family, if a highly unconventional one— on a mission.

Considering the boy's temperament and frightening intellect, Belphegor is quickly placed under Mammon's purview, although it costs the Vongola a pretty penny. Paying that fee from Don Vongola's personal accounts is both petty revenge and a warning to not overestimate the security of the Vongola finances. Their mischief goes either unnoticed or unheeded.

Reborn occasionally presides over a tutoring session for the capricious genius, and even more rarely drags the brat along on an easier mission, claiming that she's been saddled with babysitting duties whenever anyone tries to question her. To be honest, except for Xanxus, Mammon and Reborn are the only ones that can intimidate the miscreant into behaving for any amount of time.

Xanxus doesn't know whether Belphegor is actually nobility, nor does he care. Reborn and Viper, on the other hand, quietly verify that the brat is, indeed, what he claims.

Ultimately, it doesn't matter— Belphegor is Varia, and the Varia are Xanxus' people.

* * *

 **10\. An Unusual Request**

Reborn is three, and fifty-two. In some ways she is thankful for the small, spry body she has been cursed with. Almost. There are many downsides to this curse, but she has slowly come to accept that there are advantages, too.

She is no fool. Had Renato Sinclair not died and become Reborn she would have slowed by now, would likely have lost some her deadly edge. Given her choice of occupation, she would likely be dead. It is unlikely she would have lived long enough to see both of her children grow up. Harmonization would have remained a distant dream.

Xanxus is seventeen, a formidable Sky— _my_ _formidable Sky!_ — and secure as the leader of the lunatic collective colloquially known as the Varia. Those he's recruited to the organization are fiercely loyal to their Boss. The young man has developed a rather terrifying facility with firearms, and has recreated and heavily modified the gun that the Vongola Settimo wielded. Reborn did indeed borrow the basic plans and altered the design for her own use... after securing her Sky's permission, of course. That she also has access to, not to mention a means to manufacture, the Dying Will Bullets developed by the Vongola is something she keeps under her hat.

Shamal is over thirty and in complete denial of the fact— to the point Reborn suspects one of the diseases Shamal has created and infected himself with has halted his aging, or at least all outward signs of it. Having blazed through six years of medical school and an infectious disease residency, Shamal is working in a private clinic located in Mafia Land. He supplements his paychecks by moonlighting as a hitman. Trident Shamal has an impressive reputation for delicate work, and even earned enough attention to receive an offer from the Varia. He turned the recruiter down, giving the excuse the organization does not accept women; why, a womanizer like him would simply wilt in such an environment! Unsurprisingly, most of the bills he has to pay are accrued due to being sued for sexual harassment... _Where did I go wrong with that boy? Then again, most powerful Flame-actives are at least somewhat unhinged._

Regardless, Reborn is fiercely proud of both of their accomplishments.

She is just settling back into her current residence—a comfortable suite of rooms hidden within the walls of several upper floors of Varia Headquarters— when the request arrives. A quiet chime from the laptop in front of her signals a new email. She ignores it for the moment, busy checking the integrity of the security nets she's layered over her rooms, as well as the entirety of Varia HQ.

Reborn shares the responsibility of maintaining the main base's security, as well as their information network, with the Mist Arcobaleno. Perhaps that should not come as such a surprise; they have different approaches to both jobs, and two sets of eyes on a problem are always better than one. In truth, being harmonized to the same Sky has led the pair to build a close friendship.

Is it so surprising, considering their shared interests?

The hitman is also responsible for arranging training schedules for both new recruits and current members, and ensuring all of the Varia Suns are adequate field medics, at the very least. Lussuria acts as an intermediary for the latter job, being in change of the Varia Suns as a whole. The younger Sun has learned to be a strict taskmaster when necessary, no small part due to Reborn's influence.

Reborn even accepts the occasional mission for the Varia, though always on the sly, as her allegiance to the group remains secret to all besides a select group— the five harmonized to Xanxus, Lussuria, and the singular annoyance known as Skull. Shamal likely suspects the truth, but has yet to corner her and ask.

Once finished with her self-imposed task, Reborn opens the message— a request for a long-term contract. Normally, she would refuse outright, but... Corners of her mouth angling downward, she muses out loud, "Chiavarone, hm?" _They haven't been doing well, not since the current boss fell ill._ "From what I remember from his files in the Academy, the last remaining heir is uninterested in leading the _famiglia_. Or involving himself in the underworld in general."

 _Much as I dislike dragging an unwilling child into our dark world... He is already involved, due to his bloodline. The Chiavarone are important to the stability of the allied famiglie and the alliance as a whole. And the alliance is important to the stability of the mafia as a whole._

 _ **A tutoring job?**_ Her partner, resting on his favorite perch, the brim of her fedora, adds his own two cents. _**The fact that you helped train Xanxus**_ _ **is**_ _ **known among the highest echelons of the allied famiglie, so it's not that surprising a request. Still, the Chiavarone boy is hardly the sort of student you prefer.**_

"It would be an interesting challenge... and I do enjoy teaching. I can't do much of that here, not publicly."

 _ **But would you enjoy teaching someone uninterested in learning?**_

The hitman bares her teeth in a vicious grin, mind already spinning with new ideas for training an obstinate pupil. "That can be remedied easily enough."

 _ **True, I suppose. And the young dragon hardly needs us here on a day-to-day basis, constantly looming over his shoulder. Figuratively speaking.**_

The pint-sized hitman nods in agreement, adding "Xanxus has learned most of what I originally planned to teach him. And the longer I linger here without an obvious purpose, the higher the likelihood Don Vongola's intuition will lead him to suspect the truth... I have no plans to be chained to the Vongola. Not with Timoteo still refusing to step down, despite his age. And despite the signs Vongola is starting to stagnate under his leadership." _The most obvious being the lapse in security that led to the death of his oldest son and heir._

 _ **You know, you're probably at least a little at fault for that. He sees you and thinks—well, my old schoolmate is still in the field. Why should I retire?**_

"He's a stubborn old fool, but not that stupid." A frustrated sigh, as Reborn removes her fedora, as well as the chameleon perched on it, placing her hat on the table beside the laptop. "Our situations are very different." She combs fingers through her unruly, spiky hair, teasing a curl that is masquerading as a sideburn.

 _ **It could be subconscious.**_

A hum of assent. "I hardly see him as it is. After all, we are little more than occasional business associates, regardless of his feelings on the matter."

Leon pins her with a piercing look. _**Reborn. You're**_ _ **godfather**_ _ **to his**_ _ **son**_ _ **. Estranged childhood friends or not, that's a strong connection.**_

 _I see your point._ "...Distancing myself further may be advisable, despite my personal preferences." _Then this is as good an opportunity as any._ Nodding decisively, Reborn flashes a toothy, unsettling smile,"Very well. I will accept the boy as a student on a trial basis."

 _ **Decided already?**_

"I said a trial basis." Not one to dawdle, Reborn rises from her seat, placing her iconic fedora, talkative shape-shifting chameleon and all, back on her head. "We should go inform Xanxus."

* * *

From the sound of things, her godson is in his office, as is his Second-in-Command. The latter is loudly explaining the details of— Reborn really can't be bothered to pay attention, having deduced the shark is bellowing for the sole purpose of aggravating Xanxus, likely in an attempt to distract the Varia Boss from his thoughts and alleviate his decidedly black mood. Bureaucratic red tape always puts Xanxus in a murderous mood.

"I've been requested for a long-term job." Reborn announces, striding into Xanxus' office, uncaring of propriety as usual."

"Welcome back." Xanxus grunts, eyeing his mentor and Sun Guardian over the pile of reports on his desk. "How long?"

"Several years, at least." Too long a time to be parted from her Sky, to be honest. "The pay is acceptable, but the actual benefit would be greater stability among the allied _famiglie_." _You_ _have_ _been concerned about the stability of Vongola's allies; their status influences Vongola, and thus the Varia._

 _Vongola needs a stronger base of support, especially after the fiasco that was Enrico's murder. Massimo is as obnoxious as his closest friend, Iemitsu Sawada, but not a lost cause. Not completely, at least. Federico would be a better heir, perhaps... well, that's largely up to CEDEF and Don Vongola._

"VOI!" Reborn's lapse into introspection is interrupted by the loud swordsman. "What do you mean, years?! What kind of worthless mission is this? You're more useful to the Boss here."

 **Bang!** Several strands of silver hair flutter towards the ground, shorn from Squalo's head when he dodged the sudden attack. "Don't think you can tell me what to do, Superbi. I am not one of your underlings."

Xanxus entirely ignores the squabbling between his Sun and Rain. "What job?"

"Tutoring the Chiavarone heir until he's fit to take the mantle of Decimo." Reborn answers as she casually steps to the side, avoiding Squalo's retaliatory strike and casually sending three more bullets in the shark's direction.

Making a rapid about-face, Squalo laughs uproariously, all the while still doing his best to cut Reborn in half. "Voi! That klutz? Shit, I mentored him in school. Never mind years, that'll take decades!"

"Don't compare your paltry attempts to my teaching methods, shark bait." Leon turns into a metal staff that Reborn twirls expertly with a vicious smile, joining the spar with Squalo in earnest.

The 'friendly debate' between the two drastically different hitmen continues as Xanxus watches, torn between being amused and annoyed. Reborn, black eyes glimmering with humor, teases the silver-haired young man, who pretends to rise to the bait. They continue for nearly fifteen minutes, until Xanxus chases both Guardians out of his office with bullets wreathed in Wrath Flames.

In truth, their Sky's mood is much improved, despite the shitty news that one of his Guardians will be away for the foreseeable future, with only sporadic visits to look forward to. For all that Squalo has an atypical approach, his element is tranquility.

* * *

Two weeks of surveillance on the Chiavarone heir proves that 'challenge' is putting the situation lightly.

During that time, Reborn watches as Dino walks into everything from doorframes to people due to inattention, accidentally stabs himself with a fork three times, ruins his clothes by spilling either food or a beverage on them an unmeasurable number of times... And how often has she seen the boy trip on air? It's over two dozen times— per day.

Not to mention the fact that the child is in total denial of his status as heir.

 _ **...That boy is a complete and utter mess.**_

The words are said in such a deadpan tone, that Reborn has to actively suppress the laughter that tries to bubble up past her iron self-control. Her lips twitch upward as she replies. "I agree that Dino Chiavarone will need a lot of encouragement." _Could a lack of self-esteem influence a Sky to be in disharmony with the world? It's much more likely he's just a complete klutz._

"Still, he seems to be a kind person." _I'm going to take advantage of that to a ridiculous extent until he learns to defend his heart._ "And he has some Sky charisma; he can pull people under his influence. He already has a half-formed bond with his caretaker, Romario. The brat is far from hopeless."

Leon does not deem it necessary to reply.

 _Well, then. Since the Chiavarone Nono is aware of my presence, it's time I go introduce myself to my unwilling student._

She's memorized her potential student's daily schedule, and a brief chat with a handful of her beetle minions proves her initial assumptions correct. The Chiavarone heir, having spent the noon meal at his ailing father's bedside, is sulking in the sprawling garden behind the manor house. The garden is a vast labyrinth, but poorly kept; the tall hedges that had once framed each footpath are beginning edge into the cobblestone.

It does not take much effort to locate Dino. She moves soundlessly into the square-shaped clearing placed at the center of the labyrinth, inspecting the moss-covered statuary—horses, of course— as much as she does the daydreaming teenager. Stopping about four feet him, she speaks. "Ciaossu."

"Yeeek!" Dino Chiavarone jerks into a sitting position after emitting a strangled squeak, the noise calls to mind a mouse that has been stepped on. He glances around wildly, trying to spot where the unfamiliar voice came from. "What? Who—?!"

"Down here." Reborn waves casually when Dino finally lowers his gaze enough to notice her, black eyes glinting with dark humor, just a hint of a smile on her lips.

The boy obviously recognizes her, and his response is somewhat amusing. "Ah! Y-you're— I don't want to die!" The fifteen year old wails, almost immediately bursting into tears, reduced to a blotchy, snotty mess in seconds. "I don't want to die!"

It is an embarrassing scene to watch, and Reborn deems it important to inform him of this fact. She does so, in a very bland tone. "A Mafia Boss shouldn't snivel like a baby." _As if you would have seen me if I had any intention of killing you! Silly child._

Dino leaps to his feet, and his reply is surprisingly vehement, considering his earlier blubbering. "I don't have any interest in the Mafia!" He turns, perhaps intending to run, but trips over his own feet and lands face-first in the dirt, just in front of Reborn. "Ow! I'm okay."

Spitting out a mouthful of grass, the boy elaborates on his previous statement, though now that Reborn is closer, he sounds a touch more hesitant. "Father will—T-the world would be better off without the Chiavarone _famiglia_ anyway."

"Oh?" The sweetness in her voice is very obviously feigned. She can practically smell Dino's fear. "Should I kill you right now and be done with it, then?" She offers calmly, Leon in her hand before she finishes the sentence, already in the shape of her favorite gun.

Dino shakes his head frantically, pushing himself back into a sitting position and scooting back away from the diminutive hitman, "N-n-n-no! Please don't!"

 _High-strung... But he has a spine in there somewhere. More polite than Xanxus, too. In that case, I'll use words, first, and then bullets._ "Running from your future is futile, Dino Chiavarone."

"But I don't want to die!"

"Everyone dies. Besides, if you're giving up already, what's the point of living?" She asks, sounding perfectly reasonable; speaking in the same tone most people use to discuss the weather, or perhaps a particularly boring but useful book. _You wouldn't survive for long if you tried to run away from your responsibilities anyway._

"I'm not giving up!"

"Aren't you? You're trying to throw away everything your family built, after all."

"I don't want to be a Mafia Boss! The Mafia is awful."

"Is it?" Reborn is the picture of innocence, even with the gun still in her hand.

"It is! Everyone knows it is! The Mafia is filled with liars, thieves and murderers!"

 _True, up to a point, but I can't say I agree with his logic nevertheless._ "Interesting. I was under the impression that the Mafia _famiglie_ keep the underworld at least marginally civilized... Would you prefer the criminal element fell into compete anarchy? What do you think would happen then?"

Dino, still sitting in the dirt a few feet from Reborn, tugs at his blonde hair, eyes wild, "The criminal el— why are we even having this discussion?!"

"Hm? Isn't it obvious? A tutor must assess their student's critical thinking skills." _Among other things._

"T-tutor?!"

"I dislike having to repeat myself. It's annoying." She tilts her head just so, eyes shadowed by the brim of her fedora, "I am Reborn, the World's Greatest Hitman. As of today, I am also your live-in tutor. You are going to be a superlative Chiavarone Decimo." _Translation: welcome to your own personal hell._

"My l-l-live-in... what?"

Reborn moves swiftly and, suddenly, there is a weight on Dino's shoulder. "No need to worry." She 'reassures' the youth, patting his cheek in a patronizing manner. "I'm a specialist."

"WHAT?!"

 _Well,_ she thinks with a sadistic smile, _Tutoring 'Walking Disaster Dino' will be highly entertaining._ Dino, turning his head, catches the expression and quails under her gaze. _Hm. That nickname doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. I'll need to think of something shorter._

She resists the urge to chuckle evilly; it will only sound like a giggle anyway.

* * *

So instead of this being the Chiavarone Arc, this somehow became the Xanxus Arc, with a short foray into Dino-land at the very end...

Goddamit, Xanxus! Why must you keep screwing with my plot?! Bloody, stubborn, impossible— Grrr! Nearly made a liar out of me. Incorrigible bastard. I actually made it to 15k words before making the executive decision to split this chapter into two. So... Hopefully the wait won't be too long for part five?

Anyway. If anyone wants to argue the validity of Reborn becoming Xanxus' Sun, I point to the fact that the Varia boss was strong enough to pull Viper into his orbit in KHR canon, so from the standpoint of him having the requisite power/purity of Flame, it's entirely reasonable. Feel free to PM me if you want to debate the validity of my Muses' decision. (Like I have a say in where the plot is going!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Arc III – If I Only Had A...**

* * *

 **11.** **Antivenin**

Introducing Dino Chiavarone to parkour is the funniest idea Reborn has had in years. It's almost as hilarious as the Arcobaleno's expressions when they saw her in a dress, all those years ago.

She maintains her cool outwardly; the only hints of her amusement are the laughter in her eyes and slightest upwards curl of her lips. Leon, currently in the form of a video camera, plus accompanying tripod, of course, is no less amused, and can afford to show it.

 _ **This is priceless! Promise me you'll let me watch the recording sometime, Ren? Oh, an even better idea: promise me you'll play this tape at his graduation party—no, his wedding!**_

 _ **...well, if he lives that long.**_

"He'll live that long." _I'll make sure of it. I'll drag him back from the void itself in order to kill him again for the embarrassment if he doesn't._ "And of course I will. Blackmail like this exists to be used."

 **Bang!** A bullet from a rather more conventional handgun than Reborn typically uses impacts behind Dino when the blonde starts to slow from fatigue. "No dilly-dallying, Pipsqueak Dino! You're the one who wanted to spend today running!" Reborn calls out, her tone gleeful; the teen had attempted to escape a lesson on Mafia politics earlier this morning. Unfortunately for Dino, with Reborn  everything is a lesson.

Reborn keeps a careful eye on her reluctant student; it wouldn't do for the boy to seriously injure himself or suffer from heat exhaustion. She could heal such things easily, but why should she have to?

The boy is doing fine so far, so she turns her attention to a different issue. "Hm. So, who do you think our intruder is, Leon?"

 _ **Probably a fan of yours. They're not discreet enough to be a potential rival, or one of the Arcobaleno. Not to mention you'd know if it were the latter, besides Mammon. And nobody would be stupid enough to try and eliminate the Chiavarone heir**_ _ **this**_ _ **blatantly, not with us watching.**_

"I think so as well. And if they were here for Dino, they would have made a move when I pretended to leave earlier."

 **Crash!** Dino trips over his own feet, catapulting himself face-first into a wall. He peels himself away with a tired groan. Watching from beyond the finish line, Romario frets about his young master's health, checking and double-checking the contents of the large first aid kit at his side.

 **Splat!** Dino, having just regained his footing, dodges out of the way of a flying— _is that a takeout container for Chinese food?_ The container of Chinese food is followed by several opened cans of what looks like grape soda, although the purple fumes that waft from the spilled liquid certainly contradict  that theory.

"Interesting." While poison is hardly an uncommon approach, there is only one known user of Poison Cooking currently residing in Italy— a relatively young Academy student with the apt moniker of Poison Scorpion Bianchi.

 _I wonder what she wants._

Reborn has read the teenager's Academy file, and even peeked in on a few of her training sessions. The Arcobaleno Sun does so for all aspiring hitmen that show potential, especially those interested in freelancing. It's good to keep an eye on the new talent. And there are so very few women in the business, despite the changing societal attitudes towards the 'gentler sex' over the past several decades... How could Reborn not lend a hand?

At this point, Dino is flailing dramatically, jerking out the way of the projectiles but, surprisingly, moving much more quickly towards the finish line. Reborn's smile becomes decidedly sinister, "Oh, look, Leon. Dino functions better under duress... the lethal sort." The chameleon just cackles in response.

Once Dino has finally reached the end of the simply godawful obstacle course that his tutor acquired from some hell dimension and collapsed into a sweaty, panting mess, Reborn leaves her student in Romario's capable hands. Instead, she strides over to the bushes where she'd glimpsed a flash of pink when Dino had been under assault.

 _Now, to learn why Poison Scorpion Bianchi decided to interfere with my lesson..._

"Ciaossu. Did you lose something, Miss?" _Like what little sanity you had originally, perhaps?_

"Aa! N-no." A blushing girl scurries out from behind the greenery, and for the first time, Bianchi meets the World's Greatest Hitman face-to-face. "I'm— I kind of wanted to meet you. And, well, it's just that walking disaster of a boy is unworthy of being Reborn's student." The obvious blush tinting her cheeks an adorable shade of pink, the adoration in her eyes...

 _She's not a bad liar for her age._

"Interesting. But tutoring Dino is a job," is the professional hitman's noncommittal reply.

"Umm. Well, also— that is—" The pinkette stumbles over her words for a few seconds, and then takes a deep breath, visibly trying to settle herself. "You're... You're Renato Sinclair, aren't you?"

That is not a name Reborn expected to hear again outside of a Mafia-themed history lecture.

 _Supposing I was that person, what would you do?_

"Ah. I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else." Reborn winks, her smile both playful and flirtatious, a blatant demonstration of Mafia seduction at its finest. She's shameless, really. "Unfortunately, I'm not Renato Sinclair. Though, it would be flattering to be admired by such a charming young lady. I can't even point you in the right direction to find him; the man disappeared decades ago. Before I claimed his title." She studies the girl carefully, the calculating look in her black eyes belying her suspicion.

Bianchi glares back defiantly, despite her quivering hands, and starts detailing exactly how she came to said conclusion. "— And finally, there's this!" She brandishes an old photograph, and Reborn is faced with a nineteen-year-old Timoteo di Vongola and Renato Sinclair, the latter complete with curling sideburns and rakishly tilted fedora, sporting a debonair smirk.

 _Well, she's right. The resemblance_ _is_ _obvious, though I suppose I could always claim to be relative..._

 _I wonder where she found that; there aren't many photographs of Renato at any age._

The edges of the photograph are worn due to excessive handling, and there is an obvious crease in the middle where it's been folded sometime in the recent past. "All of the Arcobaleno are adults, aren't they? It's a little-known fact that none of the Arcobaleno have changed over the last several decades. At all. Reborn is... You are Renato Sinclair. I— I can keep quiet, but I need a favor. P-protection," the girl stutters out.

 _You're a very observant child, aren't you? And good at ferreting out information. Too brash, though. Dangerous, in this line of work._

 **Click**.The ominous sound of a gun being cocked causes the pink-haired teenager to blanch. Or perhaps it is the sight of a dark green weapon pointed in her direction? "Hmm. Or I could kill you, right now, and put an end to any outlandish rumors." Although Reborn's tone is cold, the innocuous smile doesn't change, "...Something I might say if you weren't talking complete nonsense, Miss Poison Scorpion."

"No! Please, just— just hear me out! I really, really need your help." The girl is shaking, tears glimmering in her eyes, but refuses back down. Reborn finds herself a little impressed by the steel in her spine.

 _You are a reckless, silly child, but I suppose I have the time to indulge you. And it isn't very gentlemanly to make a lady cry..._

"Very well. Far be it for me to make such a beautiful young lady cry." _Unintentionally, at least._ "Despite your poorly thought out attempt at blackmail... Is there something I can do for you?"

"Thanks! Thank you, really. From the beginning, then." Bianchi takes a few measured breaths, once again visibly trying to calm herself and boost her confidence. "Although I'm officially the heiress of the Family, my relatives would rather it be my cousin, Adi. That is, Adriano. He's a bore, but whatever. They'd probably even prefer my younger half-brother, despite the fact he's run away from home. I don't have a problem with that. At least, I would step aside for Hayato, if he actually wanted the position, but..."

"You're being pressured to pair off with someone appropriate and marry as soon as possible in order to make you ineligible to take the headship." Reborn deduces, "While I am quite flattered by your proposal, considering," she gestures at her fragile-looking, toddler-sized body, "I would be a poor choice for such a thing."

"N-no, wait! I mean— ah— no offense, but I need a relationship with someone impossible to intimidate or remove through less savory means." The pink-haired girl smiles dreamily, "Ohhh~! A doomed, hopeless love!"

Reborn blinks, expression sobering instantly. _How nice. Thank you_ _so much_ _for the reminder that my interactions with everyone I encounter are irrevocably shaped by this curse._ The false warmth drains from her voice, "What's in it for me."

Bianchi flushes in embarrassment. "Ah." After a few seconds of awkward silence, it's obvious she didn't think her plan through this far.

 _Amateur._ Reborn thinks with an internal sneer, even as she concedes that she can't really blame the girl. This was obviously a plan born of desperation; Reborn is hardly known to be a kindhearted, agreeable sort.

"Never mind. Hold still for a moment."

Leon shifts into the shape of an oversized magnifying glass. Unblinking black eyes peer through at the girl, eerily perceptive. Bianchi visibly struggles not to shrink back at being so closely scrutinized, managing to stay still as requested.

 _Multiple flame affinities? Well, well. Cloud and Storm, both strong._ _A touch more of the former than the latter. Excellent... it might be worthwhile to arrange an introduction. She's not a suitable match for Dino, but—Hm. And it would be easy enough for her to disappear into the Varia, if that becomes necessary. Good._

"I suppose we can work something out."

* * *

 **12\. On Thin Ice**

"We're stopping for now, Pipsqueak Dino."

The boy topples from the tightrope he's been attempting to walk on, collapsing into a boneless heap. It's a short drop— only five feet. **Thump-thump-thump.** The textbooks that he'd been trying to balance on his head land on his sore body, eliciting a pained groan. "Mercy..." As Romario is busy elsewhere working on detangling the Chiavarone finances, no mercy is forthcoming.

"Water break." The hitman replies, and beams the boy in the face with a plastic water bottle. _At least the kid now knows better than to chug._ _Progress!_

"Get up. Today, I've arranged for you to meet someone interesting. They'll be here soon."

 _In five, four, three—_

"Reborn, why the hell are you training the Chiavarone brat in the middle of nowhere?" Reborn suppresses a smile at the familiar voice of her teenaged Sky.

It's not truly the middle of nowhere, through Dino doesn't know that. They're located just a few miles from the Chiavarone manor. Regardless, Reborn is happy to play along. "Well, I was considering ditching him in the woods. A survival exercise," is her blasé response. Dino wails in horror, trying to scramble to his feet to salvage at least some face. Reborn turns to face their guests. "Ciaossu, Xanxus. Lussuria."

Xanxus grumbles something derogatory under his breath in reply, but Reborn can sense that the relief she feels on seeing her Sky for the first time in months is mirrored.

Lussuria, on the other hand, smiles widely, "Reborn-senpai! I'm glad Boss agreed to take me along; it's always good to see you."

"Likewise." _She must be studying Japanese,_ Reborn thinks. Varia operatives were strongly encouraged to continue learning. That encouragement comes in the form of a strong 'excel or be killed' mentality fostered in all members. Stagnation means death.

"Ah, right. Xanxus, the reason I asked you to visit." The smile on Reborn's face can only be described as unholy. "Meet Dino Chiavarone, your new, temporary... sparring partner. Dino, this is Xanxus of the Vongola, my previous student and current leader of the Varia." The fact that Xanxus is her godson and her Sky is, frankly, none of the Chiavarone's business.

"Shitty horse-brat." Xanxus bares his teeth in a parody of a smile, his body language becoming distinctly predatory. "Squalo says hello."

Dino, sporting a rather unhealthy pallor, stutters, "V- Varia?! S-s-spar..?" and faints, dead to the world.

"Knockout." Reborn pipes up in a sing-song tone, obviously amused by her student's reaction.

Glancing back to his Sun with a smirk, Xanxus asks, "Enjoying yourself?"

"Dino requires an enthusiastic, hands-on approach." _Very much so; this kid is so fun to tease._ "I do miss having more technically challenging missions, however."

"...He's not even close to Quality."

"Not yet, but it's only been a year. He's actually showing a rather phenomenal rate of improvement, considering. And he works best under duress." _And you, my Sky, are an excellent danger to test him against, since you have skill and restraint enough not to hurt him too badly._

Xanxus snorts, and leans down to scoop Dino up by his collar as soon as the younger teen opens his eyes, having regained consciousness. "Alright."

"Don't die too quickly." Reborn offers this advice with a cheery wave, much to Dino's despair as Xanxus drags him several feet away, putting some distance between them and the pair of Suns.

Laughing raucously, Lussuria melts into a cross-legged position, sitting beside Reborn. "You have a mean sense of humor, senpai."

"I'm sure I have no idea of what you're talking about, Luss-chan. Japanese?" The pair slips into casual conversation, with the occasional coded reference regarding what they want to teach the younger Suns in their division next. Through it all, Reborn keeps an eye on her Sky as he plays with Dino; it wouldn't do to have her annoyingly fragile student crippled.

Xanxus starts off with some mild intimidation, circling his prey like a lion on the prowl, just the slightest smirk on his lips. Dino is so out of his depth it's hilarious. Reborn quickly convinces Leon to shift into a camera and take an incriminating photograph or twelve.

Next comes hand-to-hand; while Reborn has managed to beat the very basics into Dino, it's still a massacre. Martial arts are Xanxus' second favorite fighting skill. Her Sky practically steamrolls the younger man. Then Reborn 'motivates' Dino into standing back up, and Xanxus does it again, this time with Dino armed with his whip. And then again, but this time with Xanxus taking potshots at Dino with his guns at a distance. And then again. The cycle continues well into the afternoon.

* * *

Once Dino is dismissed for the day and has staggered away, Reborn leads Xanxus to her suite in the Chiavarone manor. A quick and discreet conversation with her insect allies proves that no one has entered the rooms in her absence, not even the staff, as per her request.

Satisfied, she leads Xanxus into the living room and gestures for him to take a seat—nodding towards a large, plush chair. "Make yourself comfortable."

Lussuria takes a position outside the living room with a wry smile, leaving her Boss and the older Sun with some semblance of privacy.

Xanxus obligingly settles on the chair, one leg thrown over the other, every inch of him the proud Boss, like a massive panther assured in his dominance over the territory. Reborn wastes no time joining him, deciding to perch on the arm of the chair. "You asked to visit for a reason?"

"Yeah." The mask of 'Invulnerable Vongola Sky' relaxes, and Reborn can read her godson's expression more easily. He is worried.

"Massimo's gone." Xanxus confides, a hint of fatigue seeping into his voice. The middle Vongola brother had hardly been Xanxus' favorite, considering the older man's close friendship with Sawada Iemitsu, but their relationship had been reasonably friendly, overall. "Old man's been keeping it quiet. They pulled him out of the water a few days ago— someone went the traditional route and gave him some nice, new cement shoes."

A scowl, fingers tapping compulsively on his knee as he thinks, "I can't tell if it's someone intentionally picking off my brothers one by one or a truly shitty coincidence. Mammon suspects the former. Hell, we all know it's the most likely scenario." Xanxus snorts in derision, "And Sawada keeps giving me squinty looks, so it's no question what he thinks, and exactly who he thinks has something to do with it."

They both know Xanxus has nothing to do with this particular mess. Despite his disdain for the Vongola Nono and the newly appointed head of CEDEF, the reasons being mostly personal with the former and professional with the latter, the youngest Vongola son believes in building a strong, unified _famiglia_. Murdering his brothers would be counterproductive. Besides, blood or not, occasionally tumultuous relationships or not, they're family; Reborn and Daniela raised him to respect that.

"Sawada has always mistrusted you." Reborn states with a shrug; there's nothing either Mafioso can really do about it, after all. "And while I am... unhappy to hear about your brother, I am not surprised." She is certain now. The current Don Vongola is becoming too old to lead. Most of his original Guardians have retired or passed away. Thus, the people that are supposed to advise the Don are instead conditioned to follow his lead unquestioningly, due to the age gap. Vongola Nono's decisions are left largely unchallenged. To make matters worse, CEDEF is led by a lackadaisical fool whose ability to be objective seems to be nonexistent. The Varia have been catching more of the leeches infiltrating Vongola than the people responsible for internal affairs!

"I wish I was more surprised." Xanxus sighs deeply, and Reborn shifts closer, discreetly snuggling into her Sky's side. "Even with everything that's been happening, I've talked to Federico... He's insisting that his security detail only includes his Guardians. Says it's too stressful, to have strangers watching his family all the time. Especially now that his wife is pregnant. Bullshit, considering how he was raised."

A sly smile, "So, set some Mists to do discreet surveillance. Rotation schedule, so they don't get bored." Bored Mists get creative, which is something no one needs. "Just inform Federico's Mist beforehand, so there aren't any unfortunate incidents."

"Exactly what I thought. Unfortunately, Fede knows me too well... Made me promise not to do anything sneaky, last time he helped me bail out of one of those stupid Alliance events before the dancing started."

Reborn hums noncommittally. While she taught Xanxus to keep his word, there are extenuating circumstances. As always, it's up to him to make the decision; she is here to provide advice and support. "You are the Varia Boss." _You can lie, cheat, steal, and commit wholesale slaughter with the best of them... but Federico is family. Your call._

"I have some interesting ideas on what to do about this whole mess, don't worry... Although, I could still always quit, leave the job to you, and run off to join a circus, maybe become a stuntman like Skull. What do you think?" Xanxus jokes with a toothy grin, signaling the end of the serious conversation. It's like flipping a coin; one side depicts the unconquerable, rage-filled, and terrifying Varia Boss, the other a spirited, if occasionally moody and introspective teenager with a rather morbid sense of humor.

Since their harmonization just over four years ago, the relationship between the two has slowly morphed from something between 'teacher and student' and 'parent and child' into a surprisingly comfortable friendship— although both maintain their professional personas in public.

They understand each other.

 _I missed you_ , Reborn thinks, but doesn't say. "No way in hell," she delivers in a perfect deadpan instead. A few seconds pause, and she indulges Xanxus with a playful smile, "You'd get twitchy within a week, you know. Boredom."

"You're probably right." Xanxus admits, "Much as I hate the paperwork the trash— especially all those fucking Clouds— seem to delight in causing, life is better when you have a purpose."

The conversation stays light as the afternoon melts into evening, and soon, there is a soft knock at the door— a servant calling them for dinner.

Reborn springs to her feet, launching herself upwards and landing on Xanxus' shoulder. The young Boss snorts in amusement as he rises, heading towards the door, his footsteps soundless on the carpet.

* * *

 **13\. Revolt(ing)**

Reborn has been an official, full-time tutor and bodyguard for over two years now.

As she expected, the experience has been massively entertaining, even if being parted from her Sky for months at a time is trying. She channels the resultant bad mood into designing and implementing more creative training methods. Luckily, Dino proves to be an adaptable sort. Despite, or perhaps because of, the near-constant pressure from his tutor, the young man is truly beginning to shine. And while Reborn is certainly not as attached to Dino as she is to her previous students, since to her this is first and foremost a job, she has become somewhat fond of the pipsqueak.

Seventeen year old Dino Chiavarone isn't true Quality yet, but he's above the level of a Varia recruit, so long as one of his three Guardians is within his view. Predictably, Romario Abate— a Lightning nearly ten years Dino's senior— is one of those Guardians. The next person to be attracted by his Sky Flames is one Maria Rossi, the daughter of a loyal Chiavarone Mafioso, a pretty and relatively easygoing Rain that favors knives as her weapon of choice. Dino is very obviously infatuated with the girl, and Reborn exploits this fact with ruthless abandon. The last and youngest member of the group is Bono, a relatively nondescript fifteen year old with brown hair and eyes, a Storm that Dino met at the Academy.

Today, after running them ragged in the morning, Reborn has cajoled the four into a no-holds-barred, free-for-all spar. Partially for her own amusement, partially to teach Dino and his Guardians to be able to call on their Flames and fight no matter the level of exhaustion.

It happens just as she's about to call for a break—Bono in particular is flagging badly.

 _Pain_.

Reborn closes her mouth with a click, repressing a shudder. Only once has she felt something worse: when her body was forcibly compressed into its current size.

Liquid nitrogen boils through her veins— _burning, cold, pain_ — centered at a familiar spot in her chest. _Xanxus?!_ A flash of rage that isn't her own, and then a feeling of exhaustion as the anger drains away, leaving only an empty sort of resignation. The cold overtakes her.

No, the cold is overtaking her Sky.

Reborn's thoughts race, lightning quick and not altogether rational, colored by her uncharacteristic worry. _Something has happened to Xanxus. I knew the Varia were planning something to help wash the pink out of Timoteo's eyes, but... Damn, I should have pressed harder for details!_

 _Xanxus, you—_ _Idiota_ _! Fucking_ _King_ _of the Trash!_ _Stupido_ _! What did you_ _do_ _?!_

 _If you made an overt move against Timoteo, I should be there, watching your back, why—?_

 _Why did you leave me behind?_

Reborn's expression shifts into an unsettling blankness, eyes black as the void of space and empty of emotion. The training grounds are bathed with an oppressive feeling of malicious hunger, of desire for slaughter, as if the hitman is inches from ripping every living thing in sight limb from limb with her bare hands. A dark shadow stretches out behind her, tall and slender; it reflects the hitman's adult form.

There are only two thoughts in her mind right now— _my Sky is in pain._ _I am going to find out who is at fault and_ _someone is going to fucking die screaming._

Romario immediately steps between the apparent threat and his young Sky; Lightning Flames crackle to life, just barely in the visible spectrum, as he prepares to form a barrier. Slightly to Romario's left, the youngest in their group crumples to the ground in a dead faint. "Bono!" Dino trips over his friend's insensate form, but somehow manages to catch himself at the last moment, just barely avoiding a face-plant in Maria's chest. The girl in question sidesteps him handily, and places herself at the blond teen's back, hovering protectively.

The sudden spike in killing intent also startles a dozing Leon, who tumbles from his perch, but manages to land safely on Reborn's shoulder. _**Reborn?**_ _**Ren! ...**_ _ **Renata**_ _ **!**_

Hearing her true name seems to bring Reborn back to her senses. A blink, and the feeling of impending doom vanishes as if it was never there, the unsettling shadow snapping back to its usual shape. "Hm. Is something wrong?" The hitman asks, seemingly indifferent to the obvious shock of Dino and his underlings.

" _Dios mio_!" The exclamation comes from the mild-mannered Romario, whose hands are shaking slightly even as he maintains access to his Flames. The sentiment is echoed by Maria, who mumbles a stunned 'holy shit' under her breath.

"Are you... Is everything alright, Reborn?" Dino asks hesitantly, still wide-eyed in surprise, but no longer visibly shaking.

 _You're still too kind, Dino. I could have easily killed you in my rage..._

She lies through her teeth, forcing a smile. "Perfectly fine." The smile feels plastic, and certainly doesn't reach her eyes, but the trio becomes visibly calmer. Reborn is a superlative liar, after all. "But why have you stopped your spar? Bono has the excuse of falling unconscious, but the rest of you three..." She ignores their responses entirely, her mind elsewhere.

Once the fight has resumed and the trio is suitably distracted, she murmurs quietly to her partner, lips remaining motionless to circumvent lip reading, "Thank you, Leon. How quickly do you think we can travel back to headquarters?"

 _ **Flying? At best, it should take us five, maybe six hours... But you already knew that.**_

 _ **Anyway, it might be more sensible to call the Shark, or one of the others. If something happened to Xanxus, they would know. Lussuria, perhaps? It wouldn't be out of the ordinary for you to contact her. Or Mammon?**_

 _ **Really, Mammon would make the most sense, even if they charge you for the answer.**_

"You... you are correct." _Control yourself, Reborn. Remember who and what you are. You cannot afford to run off half-cocked like a willful teenager. Pull yourself together._

Another stab at her chest— _pain, cold and dark, so cold_ — Reborn forces herself to take a deep breath, burying her feelings deeper beneath the façade of the hitman. "It would be less suspicious. But, if Xanxus is—" _Dying_ _. Damn it, I can't even— as if saying the word will change anything._ "If he's dying, none of them should be in a condition to answer calls." _They'd better not be, or I will ensure none of them ever as much as_ _crawls_ _again for failing in their duties, Mammon included. Fellow Arcobaleno or not._

 _ **Call first. If no one answers...**_

"You're right." _Mammon. As soon as I can reasonably get away._

Leon flicks his tongue, a chameleon kiss landing on his partner's cheek. _**Xanxus is strong. He'll be fine.**_ For the sake of Reborn's sanity, as well as the continued survival of the Varia, and likely the Vongola as a whole, the shape-shifting chameleon certainly hopes so.

* * *

Reborn postpones the call until after dinner, forced to prioritize her student over her concerns about her Sky _._ Dino and his equally exhausted Guardians have retired to their rooms, Reborn having driven them well past the edge of mental and physical exhaustion, so as to ensure her privacy for the evening.

The pain in her chest has dwindled to a dull throb, but she still feels _— cold-dark-lost-alone—_ echoes of foreignthoughts. The hitman, the most aloof and logical part of her personality, idly notes that she is experiencing at least two symptoms attributed to Sky separation or Sky withdrawal: disorganized thoughts and pain at the site she associates with the bond. Withdrawal typically happens to Guardians when a fully harmonized bond is snapped, usually due to the death of a Sky, or, far more rarely, a profound sense of betrayal that leads to dissonance between the Sky and Guardian. On the other hand, she is 'hearing' projected sensations or thoughts, which can occur with a strong harmonization, but is known to happen only when a Sky is alive but under severe duress.

Is it a hallucination? Has the snapped bond, signifying her Sky's death, sent her into denial? Can she even trust her own mind?

Secluding herself in the private rooms the Chiavarone have provided her, she scrolls through her contact list until she locates Mammon's personal number. She dials it numbly, and listens to the ringing with impatience.

"Ciao." Mammon must be truly exhausted; Reborn can actually detect fatigue in their voice.

"Ciaossu." Considering Mammon's greedy nature when she's in a good mood, Reborn chooses to be blunt. "What happened."

 _What did you let those idiots_ _do_ _?_ She thinks but doesn't say, because despite being a Mist, Mammon is the most sensible person in the Varia. They tend to immediately curtail the Varia's excesses when the lunatics start damaging the Arcobaleno Mist's profits.

"Xanxus orchestrated a rebellion, in an attempt to make Nono see sense... We were betrayed."

"Tell me he isn't dead." _And tell me the traitors are._

"Don Vongola put him on ice... literally."

A sharp intake of breath, "The Nono recreated Vongola Primo's Zero Point Breakthrough? Send me the details on the Varia op. All of them. I'll pay your usual fee."

"There's no point," is the Mist's callous reply, "We're already suffering withdrawal. You, as well, if you're calling me. I know the news couldn't have reached the Chiavarone yet."

"Mammon," Reborn interrupts.

"Don't waste my time, Reborn. Time is money."

"Viper," she hisses, eyes narrowed in frustration, "Listen to me."

"Renato."

Mammon is beginning to sound annoyed, so Reborn tries to be as succinct as possible. "Ice or no ice, Xanxus is still alive. I'm experiencing echoes, you know what that means." _Don't you dare give up hope so easily._ "We will free our Sky."

"...I was not aware you were that synchronized." Her fellow Arcobaleno replies, and Reborn thinks there is a hint of hope in coloring their voice.

"I'm charging you for that information." Reborn jokes, though it falls a little flat, considering the circumstances. "Yes, I am. We are. So, please. Send me the details. Planning, operatives, casualty reports and confirmed kills, video surveillance if you can swing it— everything. I want to know who betrayed us." _I am going to destroy them._ _We_ _are going to destroy them._

This time, it is Mammon whose breathing reveals their surprise; that was the first time Reborn verbally acknowledged her association with the Varia, instead of just her bond with Xanxus.

"Fine. It will cost you. And it will take longer than usual... We're being watched very carefully, and will be for a very long time, no doubt."

"I, on the other hand, am a free operative, unassociated with the Varia. I have the best chance to actually analyze and use said information. Good night, Mammon. Please charge my account as needed." She hangs up, and stares at the phone, uncertain what to do with herself the rest of the night. Uncertain about many things, for once.

"Xanxus, you impulsive brat, why?"She whispers to her empty bedroom, slumping against the wall.

Just a few more seconds of weakness; she'll allow herself that much.

"Goddamn it."

* * *

News of Xanxus betraying of the Vongola reaches the ears of the Chiavarone heir within the next two days. It takes Dino a further week to find the courage to try and get answers from Reborn; the hitman has been in a particularly black mood. Regardless, Dino corners his tutor late on Sunday— the student's afternoon off.

The hitman is in the garden, glancing through some files in a Manilla folder, shoulders tense, eyes narrowed in concentration. The file disappears from view as soon as Dino approaches.

"Um... Reborn." Dino offers a tray of cookies he's liberated from the kitchen, chocolate with chocolate chunks, and then a mug of coffee, extra dark.

"Hm?" _Bribery._ Obligingly, she snags a cookie from the tray and starts munching, offering a distracted 'thank you' as she reaches for the coffee. _What do you want, pipsqueak?_

"When you were upset last week... That was because of Xanxus, right?" Reborn's stare makes Dino hesitate for a few seconds before he steels his spine, continuing, "How did you know something happened to Xanxus?"

"I heard about that 'Cradle Affair' mess the evening after it happened." Reborn replies blandly, reaching for another cookie.

Dino shakes his head in denial, taking a cookie for himself, and nibbling on it, expression thoughtful, "No, you— you definitely knew before then."

Reborn is exhausted. The strain on her bond with Xanxus is affecting her sleep. She will adapt soon, but now is far from the best time to test her patience. She doesn't feel like playing her usual mind games.

"...Mind your own business, Pipsqueak Dino." Reborn's hand tries to twitch towards her chest—that hollow, empty spot—but she forces it into a fist instead. "Are you so bored on your day off as to ask for extra lessons?"

All Skies have intuition. And Dino, though less gifted than a Vongola Sky, is still sharper than most. He has also been studying the process of harmonization extensively for the past three months. Eyes widening, Dino stares at Reborn with growing horror. "Oh. Oh. You're suffering from Sky separation. You and Xanxus..?"

 **Bang!** A bullet hole 'magically' appears in a tree several feet behind the inquisitive boy. A lock of blond hair flutters to the ground. "It seems you will be having dodging practice for the next few days." Although her voice is neutral, Reborn's expression is unnervingly blank, and Dino shudders at the reminder of the hitman's rage that frightening afternoon. It is clear that Reborn has no interest in having this conversation now, if ever. Wisely, the teen retreats before Reborn decides to up the ante by adding handicaps; he does not want to try to dodge bullets while carrying several kilos of weight, or while handcuffed to one of his Guardians, or... just, no.

A few days later, Reborn seems to be back to her usual, sadistic self, but Dino can't help but feel that his tutor is different somehow. Less enthused about the hijinks she maneuvers her student into. More aloof.

Just— different.

* * *

 **14\. Graduation**

Dino Chiavarone is twenty-one, and a competent young Boss by any measure... so long as one of his underlings is nearby. He has collected a full cadre of Guardians. Even better, the Chiavarone are no longer in danger of bankruptcy, and rapidly clearing the red from their accounts.

Reborn considers her student and thinks, _my work here is done._

She is three, and rapidly approaching sixty, though few are aware of that fact. Reborn is old enough to have reached, and surpassed, the pinnacle of her craft a dozen times over. And she has grown patient and cunning enough to wait until the most opportune moment to spring a trap.

She has a feeling that the innocuous envelope lying on her desk, the seal on it infused with familiar Sky Flames, is exactly what she's been waiting for. There is a quiet _**shhhick**_ as a letter opener disrupts the wax seal. The orange Flames sputter out as the envelope is opened. She takes a moment to consider how she would feel if the source of those flames ended the same way, and fights back a vicious smile.

 _No_.

Killing Timoteo would be too easy; they need to ruin everything dear to him, crush all of his delusions. A suitable revenge requires imagination. And she and the Varia's elite assassins, Xanxus di Vongola's Guardians, have had nearly a decade to scheme.

"I've been contacted by Don Vongola with an offer. A contract to train his successor." Reborn states coolly the following morning, and conversation at the breakfast table stutters to a complete halt.

"Eh?! But I—" Dino flails, feeling as if the floor has collapsed under him. The young man has grown used to Reborn's presence— occasional ridiculous costumes, insane shenanigans and all. Everything the hitman does is a lesson, whether Dino recognizes it at first or not, and as the Decimo Chiavarone grows into a man, he begins to understand the method to Reborn's madness. A little.

"Don't be ridiculous. Or are you saying my teaching methods have been inadequate?" Reborn narrows her eyes, just a hint of a dark aura surrounding her.

"N-no, not at all!" Dino stutters at the implied threat, "Just... I thought I had more time left. And it really won't be the same here without you, Reborn."

"Dino. You are ready." _You have been ready for the last six months._ _Graduation time, Bucking Bronco. But— I believe in you, pipsqueak._ "Don't let me down." She warns, expression severe, "Or I'll be back to give you remedial lessons."

"Right! Don't worry, Romario and Maria will keep me on the straight and narrow!" The blonde Boss laughs. The young woman mentioned, now Dino's girlfriend, reaches over to wallop him on the back of the head. Gently, of course. "Don't volunteer people for things without asking, you twit!"

The rest of the table erupts in laughter, and even Reborn unbends enough to smile at the scene. Romario, sitting to Dino's right, just hangs his head in despair.

"If it's your last day as my tutor, then we have to have a going away party!" Dino proclaims.

"Hm. In that case, I want more coffee." And coffee there is. Everything from coffee-scented candles, to chocolate cake with gooey coffee-flavored frosting, and, of course, the highest quality espresso money can buy. Reborn is in suspiciously high spirits, and Dino strongly suspects the hitman has every intention to bleed the Vongola Family dry.

* * *

 **15\. Last Resort**

Enrico has been buried for over a decade. Massimo died eighteen months before the Cradle Affair, not so long after Reborn signed the contract that made her a tutor and bodyguard for the current Chiavarone Don. Xanxus has been on ice for seven years. Federico's bones have finally been found, and quietly interred within the Vongola mausoleum. And so, Timoteo di Vongola calls Reborn into his office, asking for a favor.

"No." A stone-faced Reborn gazes back at the man who had so long ago been one of her closest allies, once again standing on the surface of the luxurious black leather chair that is set aside for Don Vongola's visitors. It is a private meeting; only Timoteo and Reborn are present, though several of the former's Guardians linger at the edges of Reborn's perception, outside of the room.

"Reborn... please, Ren."

 _Why, Timoteo, that almost sounds like begging._ Reborn ruthlessly suppresses the urge to smile and reveal the sheer level of  malice she feels towards the man that had once been her friend. Outwardly, she appears utterly unmoved. "How unbecoming," she states, her tone critical, "Are things really that dire, Nono?" _Shall I shoot you and put you out of your misery?_

An uneasy silence.

"Hm." Reborn knows she has the upper hand. As such, her demands should really come as no surprise to the Don. "Xanxus walks free, without any further persecution from you and yours. If the situation is as bad as you're implying, you need him leading the Varia. They respect Superbi, but the swordsman is uninterested in leading." _Which should be obvious, considering the shark immediately recruited Xanxus to be his replacement._ "And I want to know absolutely everything about this so-called last remaining heir."

"The latter is a given. The former... you know I can't do that."

"Then you can find a different tutor to keep your last heir alive," she answers glibly. Teeth bared in a mockery of a smile, her next words are callous, intended to twist the metaphorical knife. "And looking at Vongola's track record? I'd advise his mother to start looking for a nice, sturdy urn for his remains. And his father to consider siring another child or five. Shall I be on my way, then?"

"Why are you so stubbornly against this?" The Vongola Don winces at Reborn's glare; the motion would be imperceptible to most people. Reborn is not and has never been most people. Nono attempts to barter. "I'll ensure the loyalists in the Varia are notified of Xanxus' current location. Discreetly."

Reborn continues to stare back, unblinking. "I think you misunderstood me, Don Vongola..." There is a swell of murderous intent, and a tall, eerily familiar shadow stretches out behind Reborn's diminutive frame. "Either you free my godson while a team of the best medics you have available in this godforsaken mess you call an organization is standing by, or I walk." _And then I wait, laughing as everything falls apart around your ears. We will find a way to free him eventually, even if you do not cooperate._

 _That's my Sky._ _My_ _Sky you have locked up in your basement, Timoteo. You are so very,_ _very_ _lucky killing you would ruin what Xanxus had been working towards. You should be thanking whatever God you believe in that Xanxus is so loyal to the Vongola._

The door behind Reborn bursts open, admitting two of Timoteo's Guardians— the Storm and Lightning. Reborn's shadow snaps back into place, and the bloodlust simmering in the air is quelled. Mostly. Otherwise, the hitman ignores the intrusion entirely.

Don Vongola waves a dismissive hand, murmuring a few assurances to pacify his underlings. Their discussion resumes once the pair is alone again. "Fine. I'll free him. But with only you and," the Don pauses, clearly searching for a name, "Lussuria standing by to help him readjust."

"At the very minimum, myself, Lussuria, and Trident Shamal. And then only if we have access to him prior to the attempt, in order to assess the damage you have inflicted on your son."

"...I suppose that is acceptable." Faced with the immovable mountain that is Reborn, and reminded of the massive amount of guilt he feels for freezing Xanxus, Don Vongola crumples like a wet tissue.

Resisting the urge to gloat, Reborn continues the negotiation, "And the information?" Her tone is no less icy and demanding than before, though her eyes hold a glint of satisfaction at winning the concessions she truly desired.

"The last Vongola Heir is Tsunayoshi Sawada, son to Iemitsu in CEDEF. CEDEF has handled his protection detail; you can get the relevant data from them." _Reliable information? From Lal Mirch and Mammon, more likely. And then from my own observations._

"Hm. So I was right; that blithering idiot is bloodline." Reborn has known that little tidbit since she broke into the Vongola family archives to research the bloodline, for Xanxus' sake.

"He's not that bad." Timoteo insists, not particularly enthusiastic in his defense of his external advisor.

 _That depends on what you mean by 'not that bad.'_

"He's a competent soldier, but too disorganized and flighty to be a good leader." _I wonder if you remember that while Lal Mirch is loyal to CEDEF, she is an Arcobaleno first. Three sons dead, Timoteo, and a fourth trapped in ice because you refused to listen, and he was forced to take drastic measures to try and make you clean house. As leader of CEDEF,_ _Sawada_ _is ultimately responsible for internal security... You always were terrible at math._

"I'll write up the contract. Or your lawyers can." Reborn offers, feeling a touch more accommodating now that the agreement is all but struck, "We can meet again tonight or sometime tomorrow to review the relevant details." _At which point you will give me access to my Sky, if you know what's good for you._

A brusque 'acceptable,' is Timoteo's reply. It seems the Don has finally understood that, sometime in the not-so-recent past, he managed to completely alienate the World's Greatest Hitman.

* * *

Two days pass before Reborn finally has the opportunity to see her Sky.

Lussuria is currently out on a mission. Shamal is already on his way to Italy from Germany. Thus, they won't be starting the risky operation until later this week... but Reborn has waited long enough.

Having led the Sun Arcobaleno to a sub-sub-basement room with a metal door reminiscent of a high-security vault and covered in chains, Don Vongola hastily retreats back upstairs. Reborn watches him leave before turning back to the door. _Coward_ _,_ she thinks with an ugly sneer as she shatters the chains, tugging the remnants away and discarding them. _Unwilling to face the consequences of your actions._

The metal groans in protest as she pushes the door open none-too-gently. Stepping inside, Reborn squints as her eyes adjust to the dim lighting, the water vapor in her slow, steady breaths condensing in the unnaturally cold room.

And there he is— a macabre sculpture— a raging Sky, features frozen in a pained grimace, anger obvious in the planes of his face. Xanxus is encased in ice so clear it could be mistaken for glass, the vicious-looking spikes radiating outward from his body.

For a second, Reborn's expression mirrors that of her godson. _Whatever the composition of the ice the Zero Point Breakthrough actually is, I doubt it was designed to contain living things for any amount of time, let alone_ _years_ _._ Luckily, no one is here to witness this lapse in control, not even a camera, and her rage is quickly pushed aside.

The ice is riddled with cracks. Approaching, she places a hand on the substance trapping her Sky, probing the faults gently with her Flames— the broken portions are tainted by her Sky's Flames of Wrath. _Even trapped like this, you still fight?_

Reborn smiles grimly; by all appearances, had she not negotiated his release, Xanxus would have fought his way free though sheer force of will within the next year or so. Still, it is obvious his Flame use is subconscious. Unfortunately, Xanxus has likely done as much damage to his body by struggling as the actual ice has. Getting back in fighting condition will be a monumental task.

"...Brat. Don't think I'll forgive you so easily." Reborn sighs, fondness evident in her body language as she pats her godson's frozen prison. She turns away, glancing around for a broken-off spike of ice to test against her Flames.

Finding a shard the size of her fist, she holds it between her palms and bathes it in the purest concentration of Sun Flames she can produce. Bright sunshine-yellow light bathes the room, chasing away the shadows, but the mass in her hands stays stubbornly inert. _So I was right to insist Timoteo undo the technique himself._ Her hypothesis that the ice was likely responsive only to Sky flames, perhaps even only to its creator, seems at the very least partially substantiated.

There is an answering surge of Wrath Flames from her trapped Sky, and the crimson-tinted Flames are accompanied by creaking as more of the ice is chipped away. Reborn smothers her Flames, and tosses the ice in her hands aside. "Idiot." Whether the word is meant to chastise herself or Xanxus goes unexplained.

"Hm." _Let's see what I can do for you despite the Flame-inert ice._ This time, her Flames bathe the icy prison with careful intent— it wouldn't do to awaken Xanxus in this condition, after all. _Extensive external and internal scarring due to crystal formation within your cells... We'll have to monitor your eyes very carefully when thawing, or you might lose functionality in one, possibly both. An unacceptable amount of damage to the right lung and parts of the pericardium; I'll have to cash in a favor from Skull to help regenerate the tissue. Ugh, and he's going to be insufferable._ "What a pain in the ass."

* * *

The procedure is nerve-wracking; one misstep, one aspect of the thawing and healing overlooked, could see Xanxus crippled.

Reborn and Lussuria thread their flames through the cracks in the ice, increasing output as Don Vongola deconstructs the unnatural ice created with his Zero Point Breakthrough. Their job is to limit any further damage the thawing process may cause to the Varia Boss and heal the most severe internal injuries as rapidly as possible. Shamal hangs back, sharp-eyed and wary, his mosquitoes carefully monitoring Xanxus' health, cataloguing the full extent of the Sky's injuries as they're revealed and mentally listing the resources needed for rehabilitation. A hint of Mist lingers in the air, as the doctor ensures their patient is sedated.

Finally, the last vestiges of ice are removed; Xanxus falls to his knees, body racked with shudders from the cold, gasping for breath, and still completely unconscious. Lussuria rushes to catch him; their disparate builds make the scene rather comical. Or would, were the situation not so serious.

"Out." Reborn orders once Xanxus is freed from his icy prison, weaving through the remaining ice scattered on the stone floor to approach her godson.

The old Don lingers in the doorway; several of his Guardians hover protectively behind him, glowering at Reborn's imperious tone. "Impertinent bastard," is muttered more than once, and none too quietly.

Reborn ignores them entirely, not bothering to turn to face the Vongola Nono, merely repeating, "Get out, Timoteo. You've done enough." _You've done enough damage... Leave before I do something hasty._

By the end of the day, Xanxus is safely ensconced in the most secure safe-house the Varia have, as per their schemes. Three weeks after that, finally assured that her Sky is well on his way to a full recovery and that any remaining physical scarring is purely superficial, Reborn boards a plane to Japan.

 _Tsunayoshi Sawada, hm?_

* * *

Poor Reborn; nothing is ever easy.

Still, this should make the Varia Arc particularly amusing (for Reborn and the Varia, at least). And oh, the truly evil ideas I have...

Are you having fun, my dear readers?

The next installment will take time, as I've got to refresh my memory of canon (manga-manga-manga!) and decide what to mutilate into interesting shapes and what to discard entirely.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sunshine and Subterfuge**

 **Arc IV – Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road**

* * *

 **01\. Impress(ion)**

Reborn spends some time familiarizing herself with the town that will be her new base of operations for the foreseeable future, arranging for the construction of discreet bolt holes and hidden tunnels. Surveillance on her new student can wait.

Namimori is a small town, a fair distance from the more industrialized areas of Japan. The place is unassuming at first— and to be honest, second and third— glance. Its claims to fame consist of TakeSushi, a particularly fantastic local sushi restaurant, and the large swaths of untouched wilderness that surround the Namimori Shrine, located to the north and beyond the actual boundaries of the town. In the underworld, this place is known only because Vongola's Primo spent his retirement here.

She makes a note to mention the sushi place to Belphegor when the teen inevitably becomes bored and decides to visit; to call the young Storm a foodie would be a massive understatement.

The town is relatively free of crime, being under the somewhat questionable protection of the Hibari family— _loose Triads and Yakuza connections, founding family of the town, infamous for their practically single-minded obsessions with their chosen professions._ _Given the appearance of the heir, likely blood ties to the Storm Arcobaleno._ Hibari Kyoya, the heir apparent of the family and only Hibari currently in residence, is a latent Cloud with either a very unconventional personality or twisted sense of humor. Either one would usually have her earmark him for recruitment into the Varia, but the Cloud was rather obviously fixated on Namimori. A shame, that.

Of course, the town does not entirely lack undesirables—petty thieves, local punks, yakuza wannabes… that one spy from the Nacht Consortium living next door to her future student and his rather airheaded mother.

The amateur spy has a very permanent retirement courtesy of Reborn, which rather conveniently frees the residence for her own purposes. One Miura Kimiko, a reclusive author with graduate degrees in botany and entomology, quietly takes residence beside the Sawada home a few weeks before the youngest member of said household has his world turned on its ear.

That 'Miura Kimiko' is an alias requires no explanation. It's secretly one of her favorites, and one she rarely uses; the Miura surname is one her mother's relatives use in their more clandestine work.

* * *

The moment she lays eyes on Sawada Tsunayoshi, Reborn's instincts scream that there is something terribly broken in the child. Something off. Whatever that something is makes her skin crawl, makes the hairs on the back on her neck rise. _It's not an attempt at Sky attraction or anything of the sort._ She frowns, lowering the brim of her fedora as her mind grapples with possible causes like a squirrel with a particularly stubborn walnut.

Twenty-four hours into studying the boy's routine she's made several interesting observations but lacks an answer as to what is setting off her instincts. It takes a handful more days and a little discreet breaking and entering to reveal the likely reason.

At first glance, the Sawada boy appears as chronically clumsy as her last student. Make no mistake— Tsunayoshi is clumsy. It's a symptom of his actual issues and not a true lack of coordination like it is for Dino. Tsunayoshi has a profound hypersensitivity to others' emotions.

Reborn confirms her hypothesis by spending a lovely Thursday terrorizing Tsunayoshi— Dame-Tsuna, the other children call him— by intermittently directing just a flicker of murderous intent in his direction. By evening, the child is a bruised, bloody, and paranoid mess.

She feels not even a smidgen of guilt.

Really.

After all, 'Dame-Tsuna' is always a bloody mess by the time he returns from school.

The boy trips over his feet every time even a miniscule amount of ill intent is directed in his direction. He flinches away whenever someone nearby has an emotional outburst— teenagers are moody little things, aren't they? Worse yet, the closer Tsunayoshi feels to the person emoting, the more likely he is to stumble in response to the slightest change in mood; that certainly explains his tumbles down the stairs every morning.

"What an unfortunate child," Reborn comments idly, perched in the tree outside Tsuna's bedroom window, watching him ignore his homework in favor of manga. _What an unlucky child you are, Tsunayoshi, to be so blessed with intuition. To be that annoying man's son. To be the Vongola Nono's preferred heir... Things would go so much better for you if Xanxus decided to seriously pursue the position of Vongola Decimo, wouldn't they?_

 _I suppose we'll see what my Sky thinks of you eventually._

 _ **Unfortunate is right... He's a twitchy little thing.**_ Leon is, of course, correct.

"The child's natural response to his ability is problematic, yes, but that's fixable... Given the empathy and sensitivity of his intuition, he's probably a Sky. They're the only Flames on record that have intuition that borders on prescience. And yet, not even a flicker of Flame from him." _Not even when he's being bullied by his classmates. Where is your_ _spine_ _, Tsunayoshi? Where is your resolve? Has something happened to you to make you this way, or are you just a natural invertebrate?_

"The boy's intuition is impacting his grades, as well. He's so hyper-focused on his surroundings that learning anything seems next to impossible. Well, that and his abysmal self-esteem." _He seems resigned to failure... Hm. It won't be my first time teaching the unwilling._

 _ **Threats of bodily harm are good for encouraging focus.**_

The chameleon's 'helpful' comment elicits a chuckle from Reborn. "Ever the devil on my shoulder, old friend? No need to take things out on the boy before he does something stupid. As much as I'd rather not have to train Sawada Iemitsu's son, I'm a hitman of my word." _If Timoteo goes back on_ _his_ _word, and breaks the terms of the contract first, that would be a different matter._

 _Though_ _I likely wouldn't leave the child to the wolves entirely. Tsk... How soft-hearted of me._ Reborn has long ago accepted this aspect of her nature.

"This is something I promised to do in exchange for our young dragon's freedom." And Reborn is the sort that will walk through the very gates of hell for her Sky. Because her Sky was worthy of that level of loyalty. Because her Sky would do the same for his people.

 _ **Let's take a closer look. There's no point in teaching him to be a Vongola Don if he's not a Sky, right? The Vongola are always ruled by Active Skies. And we know better than to take Sawada senior at his word.**_

What they have observed so far is rather... discouraging.

Sawada Tsunayoshi is a naïve, civilian child. An innocent, fluffy little kitten, bumbling through life and tripping over its own is far more of a hot mess than Dino Chiavarone ever was.

 _Even with_ _enthusiastic_ _tutoring I can't be certain the final product would be— well, never let it be said I would walk away from a herculean task. And as much as I despise involving children in the mafia, there is no escaping fate for Sawada's brat. Really, there never was hope for him to avoid the dark world entirely; he would have been found and exploited by either Vongola or Vongola's enemies eventually._

* * *

As promised, Sawada Tsunayoshi is a Sky.

Reborn frowns, and narrows her focus, squinting through the Leon-Magnifying Glass. The boy is an Active Sky and someone has— _not smothered, but somehow_ _caged_ _?_ — restricted his flames. A tendril of Sun slithers from her right hand and into the child's chest, seeking to analyze the block.

She stills at the familiar feeling. _He_ _froze_ _the boy's Flames?!_ She clamps down on her instinctive response; no need to wake the boy with her rage. It wouldn't do to make the wrong impression. _No... No, that might have left the child catatonic, maybe even killed him. A prison of ice, with his Flames intact behind it._ Biting back a frustrated growl, Reborn retreats to the windowsill, then out the bedroom window, soundlessly closing it behind her.

She's well hidden behind the thick green foliage of a tree, keeping a careful eye of her new student when she finally allows anger to twist her features into a scowl. Because this? This is yet another complication she doesn't need.

 _Timoteo Vongola, what the hell made you think that was a good idea?_

She indulges in an annoyed huff, muttering under her breath. "What a headache." Leon climbs up her arm and settles on a shoulder, tail curled possessively around her neck. _**At least now we know what the problem is. Digging through hospital records might tell us when his Flames were suppressed.**_

Reborn hums noncommittally, mulling over and discarding ideas.

 _Asking Sawada senior to do anything genuinely helpful is out, and I doubt that halfwit knows that technique anyway. Timoteo will be too busy to fly down here and fix his own mess, and it would be a security nightmare, besides._

 _It's obvious they plan for me to release the boy's Flames with Dying Will Bullets. Or the pills—not that they know I have 'acquired' their precious Dying Will medicine from the Varia. Sure, those bullets can force someone to transition from Latent to Active, but for someone with forcibly suppressed Flames?_

 _There's no guarantee either would work in this situation._

 _Besides, it's not the best plan for the boy to associate releasing his Flames with a loss of control._

 _Perhaps the cage will break after one forced activation with the bullets. I could probably keep him alive if something went wrong, but... risky. Regrets or no, he could simply drop dead immediately if the cage strengthens in response to higher Flame output instead. Sun Flames might work for a very brief boost, just to see how the cage responds._

 _Then, if Dying Will Bullets and such are a loss… Could another Sky weaken it?_

Really, there's only one reasonable option if shooting the boy isn't an option— and whether everyone else thinks it's reasonable is not Reborn's problem.

* * *

 _Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste..._

Humming the song softly under her breath with a wicked smirk, she sings along in her thoughts.

 _Hm. And on that note: karaoke. Not a bad idea. Either the boy learns to stand up for himself— unlikely if I try it early on—_ _or_ _he sings in front of his crush. That's one way to desensitize him to speaking in public. A win either way; I'll add it to the list._

Earlier today, she'd arranged for a ridiculous-looking advertisement for tutoring services to be delivered to the Sawada home. Reborn might have written it in blocky letters using a red crayon, just for shits and giggles. What does it matter? The paper has been Mist-laced by a Varia mook— the Sawada matriarch will see what she expects to. Iemitsu has already called home and informed his wife about having arranged for a tutor anyway.

 _ **Riiing!**_

The timing is just right— the littlest Sawada tumbles down the stairs just after Reborn pushes the doorbell with a Leon-baton. The chameleon retreats immediately back to his favorite perch and the pair wait patiently as Sawada Tsunayoshi fumbles with the doorknob. Seconds later, the door opens to reveal a scruffy, half-asleep waif in wrinkled seafoam green pajamas, the mild abrasion on his right cheek a clear sign of his early morning scuffle with the stairs.

 _ **It's eight in the morning and the kid is still in his pajamas... This just gets better and better.**_

The child blinks at the apparently empty doorway before mumbling, "Uh— good morning?" in a questioning tone.

"Down here, Sawada Tsunayoshi." What would be a rather sarcastic drawl coming from an adult sounds remarkably benign in the childish voice of the World's Greatest Hitman.

"H-huh? A little kid?"

 _Not quite._ A beatific smile, "Ciaossu. I am Reborn, and as of today I am your tutor. Please treat me kindly."

 _ **A tutor from the depths of hell, some would say.**_

Tsuna immediately puffs up like a popinjay, "What?! I don't need a—" The Sawada matriarch bustles into the hallway from the kitchen, at exactly the right moment, "Oh? Tsu-chan, did your new live-in tutor arrive already? I was going to tell you about him over breakfast!"

"Ciaossu, Sawada-san." Reborn tilts her hat and flashes her most charming smile. "I am Reborn. I apologize for arriving a little earlier than planned."

Sawada Nana blushes and giggles, "My, how precious!"

"Mo-om! He's just a bratty kid playing some kind of game, or it's a scam, or—."

Nana ignores her son's complaints entirely. "Oh~! You must be a genius, little man, to have finished school at your age! Please come in, Reborn-chan! We're just about to have breakfast, will you join us?"

"Thank you very much for your hospitality, Sawada-san. Could I trouble you for some coffee?"

"So polite, too! You simply must call me Mama." The woman chirps back, beckoning their guest into the kitchen.

"Only it if that's what you'd prefer, Mama." A much more sinister smile in the befuddled Tsunayoshi's direction causes the boy to freeze up with a squeak.

Breakfast is quiet, with Reborn serenely complimenting Nana's cooking as she eats.

She chooses to lull the boy into a false sense of security, telling him she'd evaluate his abilities after school. "You'd better hurry, though, Tsunayoshi. You wouldn't like to be late, right?"

The piercing shriek and mad scramble for his school uniform, knapsack, and then finally the door that sentence elicits is a thing of beauty.

She follows him. Another day of gathering blackmai— err, discreet observation wouldn't hurt.

And, of course, she must ensure she's on hand to 'encourage' her new pupil return home in a timely manner after the school day ends.

* * *

Sawada Tsunayoshi is tired. School is always so very exhausting, and being caught by his new, terrifyingly unnatural baby-tutor and dragged home by his collar is just the cherry on top of his exceptionally shitty Monday. Between being harassed by the usual bullies, forgetting his lunch, and failing another math test... Tsuna is so, so tired.

"Sit." The crazy, possibly homicidal— was that a real gun the kid was waving around earlier? — tutor demands, and Tsuna wordlessly crumples into the sole chair in his room, hunching forward. His so-called tutor is just above his eye level when standing on the desk in his room.

Reborn can practically read the boy's thoughts from his expression."Oh, yes. Definitely homicidal." Reborn smiles slowly, as she deliberately makes eye contact with her new student. "While I'm an exemplary tutor, my true line of work is cold-blooded murder. I am the World's Greatest Hitman. Just one more reason to be polite," she advises.

"Erk—" Tsunayoshi shudders uncontrollably, choking on the scream he'd been about to release.

"But I digress. I'm sure you're wondering why I've been contracted to be your tutor... You see, while I am here to bring your school grades up to par—stop squawking protests, your scores are abysmal and 'Dame-Tsuna' is truly an apt nickname— I am also here because you're the heir of a very powerful family."

"F-family?" Repeats said heir while making a remarkably accurate impression of a deer in headlights. "I don't know anything about that; you must have the wrong person."

 _ **You don't know anything about anything, brat.**_ A rather grumpy Leon retorts, tired of the constant shrieking already.

Reborn suppresses an anticipatory smirk, "You're the candidate selected to be the next head of the infamous Vongola Famiglia of Italy." And then, a touch more glibly, as she braces for the high-pitched shriek that she knows is coming, "Welcome to the Mafia, brat."

She never was one to break news gently.

"HIEEEEEEEEEE~!"

The resulting wail of terror and complete, hysterical meltdown is actually more impressive than Reborn expected. It's as beautiful as Verde's expression all those years ago when she walked in, dressed to the nines in an evening gown for a mission with the _i prescelti sette_. The only thing better was accidentally shorting out Skull's brain when he barged into her room, walking on her shirtless as she calmly dug a bullet out of her shoulder. A bullet she'd taken for his sake.

Reborn relishes in the chaos.

She lets the boy panic for a few minutes before reasserting control and giving a more detailed explanation of the situation— complete with a family tree depicting his relation to Vongola's founder, visual aids, and several close calls with bullets to keep her student compliant.

Eventually, the kid stops panicking, takes the hints Reborn has provided, and starts to use his brain. "Wait... even if the Ninth's sons are dead, why am I the heir? Isn't there anyone else available? Shouldn't it be my Mom or Dad before me, anyway?"

 _Finally!_

"Good question." Reborn praises— _he can retain information under fire, and there's some ability for logical reasoning in that remarkably empty head of his as well_ — "Sawada Nana married into the family. And Sawada Iemitsu is ineligible."

"...Ineligible?"

"His current position in the business makes him invalid for the position of heir." Reborn answers with a sly smile. "It's a family business, after all." After all, despite Iemitsu's vehement protests, she is permitted to answer questions about Vongola, including CEDEF, so long as the boy asks direct questions. Manipulating the conversation so that the boy thinks to ask those questions is fair game.

Her answer triggers emotional meltdown number two of the afternoon.

Eventually, Reborn's patience wears thin. "Are you done panicking? There's no point in complaining or trying to run. Even if you cut ties with everyone you know immediately, changed your name, and moved to a different country... You'd be hunted down. It wouldn't even be particularly difficult." Her eyes glint with malice, and as she points out his only option is to cooperate. "With a pedigree like yours, there's no escaping the clutches of the dark underbelly of the world."

"We've delayed long enough. Make a list of questions to ask later. For now, we will start with your mathematics homework..."

* * *

 **02\. Seal(ing) the Deal**

The boy has internalized it, the fact that he is useless, hopeless, and dull. He's not nearly as stupid as he tries to be. There are moments of brightness, insight, that cannot be wholly attributed to his gift of Intuition. Tsunayoshi is a Sky, but Flames do not make you who you are, merely give light to aspects of your personality.

Reborn feels almost optimistic regarding the child's future survival, as long as they can resolve the issue of his suppressed Flames.

 _Unfortunately, it seems the cage adapts after all._

Trying to stimulate Tsuna's Flames with her own pushed the boy into a day-long coma. The Sawada matriarch calls it exhaustion and proceeds to ignore her 'tired Tsu-chan who's been working so hard' after thanking Reborn for her efforts to shape her 'Dame-Tsuna' into a functioning member of society.

Not in those exact words, but regardless, her actions do not endear the woman to Reborn.

 _No friends, a family that barely acknowledges his existence... Tsunayoshi does not have much of a support system. No, it's more accurate to say the child doesn't have a support system at all._

 _Stop it._ She chastises herself with a scowl. _You're his teacher, not his guardian, Reborn. You don't even_ _like_ _Sawada's wimpy brat._

Luckily, it's not a weekday—Reborn knows better— and the boy had already completed his homework and some appropriately grueling physical exercises. The latter involved a liberal application of threats of bodily harm but no actual maiming, of course.

In the afternoon, once the younger woman is out of the house, and likely to be so for several hours, Reborn slides a mobile phone from a hidden pocket within her suit, a slim state-of-the-art contraption, and dials.

"Morning." A familiar voice rumbles sleepily from halfway across the world. "Update," comes the order in an imperious tone, "And it better be really fucking important to wake me up, or I'll burn you from the toes up."

"Afternoon, really. Late night?" She replies, a playful lilt to her tone. "And my work is getting more troublesome by the hour." It's a secure line, and she can afford to be direct, but where's the fun in that?

The person on the other end of the line pauses, betraying his surprise. "—the fuck? Ren. Didn't expect to hear from you so soon." An awkward pause; Reborn is not exactly his subordinate and is unlikely to let rudeness slide.

"Hm. Perhaps it is I who wants an update." Reborn gestures, and her scaled partner crawls down her arm and onto Tsunayoshi's pillow, following the silent request to monitor the boy as she talks. "For example, how's that new project you're working on? Any progress?"

Xanxus is not one to sit idly and would never allow himself to be caught in the same trap twice. He's been studying the technique that had been used to imprison him with near fanatical devotion since he was given the green light to train. And if Viper had helped retrieve the appropriate research materials? Well. What did Don Vongola expect? "Some." Reborn smiles as she listens to her Sky elaborate.

"—Surprised you're asking after it. Need the data for something?"

"Or something. How quickly can you be ready for a live trial?"

Another pause, and Xanxus sounds almost incredulous. "...On a human subject?" More accurately, angry and incredulous. Ah, but Reborn's Sky is no fool.

"Exactly. And, before you ask that next question, yes."

"Fine. Give me a week or six to practice on less sensitive subjects." Reborn almost feels pity for the poor souls that end up volunteering. "Anyway. Iemitsu's brat as pitiful as you expected?"

"Worse than Dino, but he has— an acceptable excuse. Almost. The situation isn't entirely hopeless. Are you caught up on paperwork?"

"Sure. Trash are monitoring me, but _dio santo_ they're fucking  awful at it. I'll use Mammon's minions."

 _It wouldn't be difficult to cover your absence for a short time; there are enough Varia Mists familiar with your demeanor and habits, and Mammon has ensured the lot are reasonably trustworthy._

She does not deem it important enough to inform Tsunayoshi of the upcoming chaos yet. She does, however, drill him about any major illnesses in early childhood, deducing that the cage has been in place since elementary school.

 _A Sky, Flame-active long before puberty— so much potential!_ _And so much time wasted... Either you saw him as a threat to your sons' inheritance, or Sawada has a rather unsettling amount of influence._

* * *

 **03\. Concern(ing) Directions**

The boy's inability to externally channel Flames actually gives Reborn some breathing room. She can focus on torturing him into decent physical condition and passing grades without having to split her focus even further... And even if she does not explicitly tell this to Tsunayoshi, they work on improving his emotional state as well. Tsunayoshi is a Sky, if a caged one, and Harmonization is possible even for Skies with pitifully weak Flames. Given humanity's (or at least, the Mafia's) current understanding of Flames, and from her own experience, finding guardians could help stabilize the boy.

In Namimori, there are a handful of Lightnings with potential, an exceptional but emotionally troubled Rain on the edge of going Active, an extremely enthusiastic Active Sun... a few prospective Mists as well. The only elements she will definitely have to 'import' from elsewhere will be a Storm, and likely a Cloud. The Hibari boy is both highly territorial and unlikely to bond with Tsunayoshi given his temperament.

 _If it was possible, I would have Tsunayoshi travel. It is always good to have friends that can offer different perspectives. Hm, but that can't be helped at the moment._

 _One thing at a time._

She knows just where to start. Shamal's pet project is an ambitious Storm with some knowledge of the Mafia within the appropriate age range— one likely to become a professional saboteur. One destined to remain unaffiliated if Harmonization does not blindside him into a _famiglia_. Assuming he lives that long... Shamal would prefer the brat outlives a mayfly if possible.

* * *

Reborn, having changed into her pajamas—a lovely mint green set with large, white polka dots— slips into the child-sized hammock set up in the corner of Tsunayoshi's room, fluffing her marshmallow-soft pillow. When she can trust the boy not to get himself murdered overnight, she can move in to the quarters she's set up next door... maybe in a year or two.

Leon flicks the light off, then scurries over to the hammock to join his partner, curling on top of the blanket, positioned on Reborn's stomach.

 _ **Night, Ren.**_

Reborn gives a gentle stroke down the chameleon's back in appreciation of his hard work today.

Right before Reborn nods off, a hesitant voice disturbs the evening calm.

"Reborn?" Tsuna wavers for a few seconds, before biting his lip and strengthening his resolve, asking, "Why did you introduce me to Gokudera-san?" Because it was an introduction—even if there was terror, and explosives, and running away involved. Even if he somehow managed to save the scary boy's life— admittedly, due to the brutal training Reborn has forced him through— and the Italian now insisted on calling him Tenth.

"Oh?" The sickly-sweet quality to the tiny hitman's voice evokes an instinctive terror in the teen— as it implies a sinister smile Tsuna cannot see in the dark of the room. "Are you questioning my training methods?"

"No! I'm... it's a serious question."

"Hm." _An honest answer for an honest question, then._ "Just this once." _Because you won't appreciate it._

"You needed a friend your age to push you to improve," comes the answer, delivered in a blasé tone. _The puppy is already Mafia, and so very close to going Flame-active. An element without a Sky is a stray dog. This is as much for_ _his_ _benefit as yours, brat._

"I don't!" She can hear the indignant child sit up in bed, then pause, think over his actions, and slither back under the covers. "I mean, I can make my own friends."

 _ **Because it's worked so well for you so far. Can we get some goddamn sleep already?!**_

"Really?" The hitman responds, voice dripping with sarcasm. "If you say so. Still, that's not the main reason I introduced you two." Reborn bares her teeth in the facsimile of a smile, "Surprise. Not everything is about you, kid."

"Eh?"

"Take a stray puppy home, feed him, and he's yours forever." _Gokudera Hayato needs you as much as you need him. Do you understand, Tsuna?_

"...Good night, Reborn."

 _It's nice to see that my efforts aren't going to waste._

* * *

 **04\. Raining (on my Parade)**

The only suitable Rain in this town within the right age range will require a delicate touch. It's not the fact that the boy is a bit emotionally fragile—it's not difficult for someone of Reborn's caliber to see past the smile to the lonely, isolated child beneath— but the fact that his father has connections to the underworld.

Yamamoto Tsuyoshi. Retired wetworks specialist. He'd spent over a decade and a half as a freelancer in Japan, occasionally meandering over to other predominately Asian countries, before settling down, marrying, and starting a civilian business.

The accursed children, the _i prescelti sette,_ are recognized worldwide, Reborn most of all. So, when she steps into TakeSushi a little after the lunch rush, there is a second's pause to the slicing sounds coming from the kitchen area.

Reborn orders, eats her delicious meal slowly after surreptitiously checking for poisons, and when the room is empty of other diners, settles her bill and begins a conversation. "Yamamoto Tsuyoshi-san, Shigure Soen Ryu. Retired."

"...And what brings one of the World's Greatest to my humble restaurant?"

"Besides some of the best sushi in the country?" Lips curling into a wry smile, Reborn tilts her head. "I think you can guess. Even retired, you keep an ear out for trouble; Namimori is not so large."

"Forgive me for the impertinent question, but... You've never been a father, have you, Reborn-san?" Tsuyoshi's knife cuts with the same precision as it did before the conversation began, nary a pause in the chef's work. "I would rather Takeshi-kun pursue his own interests."

"Hm, I wonder." The smile fades, as dark eyes regard the older looking man with curiosity, "You would say that, even though he almost jumped from the roof of Namimori Middle this morning?" Tsunayoshi, despite being terrified of heights, had been 'gently' goaded into intervening. Tsuna had performed admirably under pressure, though she and Leon had had to prevent the two boys from slipping off the edge of the roof; Takeshi had picked a rainy day for his breakdown. She knows for a fact that the school administration remains blissfully unaware— barring the Disciplinary Committee— so nobody would have gone out of their way to inform Tsuyoshi of the incident.

"...I see." The knife is set aside, "Thank you for notifying me."

"Hm." A pause, "But I suppose it's ultimately the kids' decision what happens." The hitman shrugs, and slides out of her seat, heading towards the exit.

"You are wrong, by the way." _The fact that I too have been both mother and father to a child is the only reason I approached you today_. "Have a pleasant evening, Yamamoto-san." She tips her hat to the sushi chef, flashing a toothy smile that is somehow utterly devoid of any positive emotion. The door shuts behind her with a near-silent swish.

"Good evening to you as well, Reborn-san." The reply echoes in the empty restaurant.

* * *

 **05\. Mirror (Shards)**

She'd been watching them for a few weeks, the completely, impossibly, perfectly adorable child in the cutest tailored suit and the most trouble-prone lackwit of a boy in the town. There was something weird going on there, and Miura Haru is determined to make sure the toddler— _his name is Reborn, right? –_ is protected from any negative influences.

And maybe make a new friend in the meantime.

Reborn-chan likes to cosplay, right? She'd seen him in various costumes, but usually just that snappy suit. It's always nice to have friends that share your interests!

When the mismatched pair are close enough to her house, she slips from her hiding place in the bushes, starry eyed at being so close to Reborn, and ignoring that troublesome Sawada boy altogether.

"Hahi! My name is Miura Haru! You're Reborn-chan, right? I watch you walking past my window all the time. Can we be friends?" She asks eagerly, practically vibrating in place.

 _Okay. That might have come out a little weird, but maybe he didn't notice?_

"Sure." The reply is blasé, with just a hint of a smile. Definitely a smile and not a smirk; toddlers don't smirk. "I know, Haru-chan lives in that red brick house, over there." He knows her! The adorable, perfect little angel knows her name and where she lives!

 _Mou, but Reborn-chan is super cute. And so smart for his age!_

"So adorable! We'll be the bestest of friends, I promise!" She hugs herself with both arms and squeezes. "Reborn-chan, can I hug you, like this?"

"No." And the illusion shatters. "I'm a hitman."

 _You're a—wait._ _Shit_ _. A suit-wearing baby with a yellow pacifier named_ _Reborn_ _. That's the name of one of the Arcobaleno... maybe I should go with Reborn-sama instead of Reborn-chan, then?_

 _Still... who knew the Arcobaleno are so cute?! Cuteness overload!_

Despite the embarrassing mishap, Haru plays along. She's been taught that much. "Eeh! What sort of violent nonsense have you been filling this little angel's head with, Sawada, you reprobate?!"

"HIEEEEEEE! Reborn why are you always saying weird things?!"

* * *

"...Any relation to Miura Kimiko?" Reborn asks with an amused expression, when Haru pauses her angry diatribe.

Of course, the hitman already knows the answer; but it's always good to double-check. The few blood relatives she has left use 'Miura' as their surname if they're aware of and involved in the underworld. They also know Miura Kimiko as one of the oldest and most well-connected members of their far-flung family— not a Famiglia, never that. Nowadays, the Miura focus on developing Flame technology; Reborn even pointed a few of the more brilliant ones in the direction of Verde. There's always a bit of discreet information gathering on the side— industrial espionage at the very least— but her _Mamma_ was their last true information specialist.

Pressing her index finger against her lips, the girl muses out loud. "The author? I think she's a cousin." Shrugging, she adds, "I've never met her though. Dad doesn't really talk about his side of the family."

"Miura Kenji's daughter, then. A pleasure." Like Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, her very distant cousin Kenji is retired... mostly. It's interesting his daughter seems knowledgeable enough to know of the Arcobaleno but not enough to recognize one without the truth being made very, very obvious.

"E-eh. Right. Ah! So, can we really be friends, Reborn-sama?"

Reborn cackles internally.

 _Oh? This has the potential for embarrassment, both for Tsuna-chan and Haru-chan._

* * *

Reborn is completely shameless in her pursuit of chaos and breaking people's minds.

She is also trying so, so hard not to get attached... keep trying, Ren. Keep trying.

Right, so good news and bad news.

Good news, I am still committed to writing this. Bad news, I'm in the third year of medical school— which translates to semi-regular twelve-hour workdays, and then studying on top of that. My free time is going to be minimal for the next year plus. So, if I update, it will be very slowly. Snail like. Sloth like. You get the picture.

This is a bit shorter than I planned, but I figured I'd throw you guys a bone before disappearing again.


End file.
